The Renegades 2: The Lady of Magic
by Elentari2
Summary: Arien comes home from Yonder Worlds as a witch, but she got more than she bargained for: the War of the Ring, prejudice among the races, plots of the powerful, and Legolas. Ancient grudges stay in her way to victory, and love. Renegades Book 2. COMPLETE!
1. Prologue: Concerning Arien

A.N.: I have to thank my wonderful beta-reader, Farah, for al her enthusiasm and support (not counting those many hours at the chat listening to me trying to make a decent plot) and, obviously, for making the text a bit more readable for the readers. 

_Disclaimer_: I'll only write it this once: I don't own neither Harry Potter universe (background), nor Lord of the Ring's, nor the Darkover series (from where I took the mechanics of the psychic powers), and much less Star Wars (naming and stuff). I'm only mixing elements with a _(I hope_ ) plot for the fun of it and, God knows, I'm not making any money with this stories.

_Important:_ This fic was originally posted at the Crossover section, but honestly, I thought this was much more of LoTR than a crossover, since the 'crossover' bit is mostly in the background and hardly appears. Also its rating was raised from PG-13 to R, for all the violence, cursing and sexual themes implied. It was also thoroughly revised at 5-5-03.

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**The Renegades : The Lady of Magic**

Sequel to 'The Renegades : the Awakening'.

By Elentari 

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Prologue: Concerning Arien 

"The world is changed.

 I feel it in the water.

 I feel it in the earth. 

I smell it in the air

Much that once was is lost.

For none now live who remember it." Galadriel, LoTR (movie) 

_What has gone on before: _

With the defeat of Sauron at the first War of the Ring, the peoples of Middle earth try to go back to normality.  Galadriel, lady of Light, sends her sister Aredhel as an ambassador to the northern elven realms of Greenwood and Arton. However, when Aredhel leaves Greenwood to go to Arton, her party finds the elven realm destroyed by an expanding human empire from the north. She barely escapes, but her bodyguards are killed in the conquer battle where two mortal armies fought over the lands, they had the misfortune of stepping into, and she is later caught prisoner.

Aredhel keeps secret about the southern elven realms and guarantees that the Dorian empire would not invade south. With time, she fell in love with a general of Dorian, Glaucus Antonius,  they got married and had two children, Andrea and Ariel. Their elven inheritance was kept secret with lies and isolation. However, Dorian was too corrupted and the emperor puts one minion against the other in order to keep them weak. In the games of power, Glaucus is unjustly charged for treachery and  his family dies trying to escape, saving the youngest child, Arien.

Arien fled seeking the legendary haven of the half-elven. Aredhel believed her  half elven offspring wouldn't be entirely welcome in either Men or Elf realms, as most of the peredhil crawled in the shadows to a secret kingdom of theirs in the First Age.  With the help of Fangorn, she learns the localization of Antar, but when she was approaching the city, Arien crossed an interdimensional gate – a wide marble wall with huge marble gates-  and was transported to Earth, a land of incredibly advanced technology, were non-magical folk (Muggles) live not knowing of the existence of  with wizards and witches, unicorns, vampires and all kinds of magical creatures.

With the help of Dumbledore and the emotional support of the Weasley family, Arien is enrolled at Hogwarts, a great school of witchcraft and wizardry, where she first learns  how to use magic and that not all wizards are good. Shortly after her arrival the Wizard World War erupts, when all wizards separate in two sides and fight fiercely for over seven years, and most the students of Hogwarts join the side of Light. Arien was separated from her Weasley friends and sent to the Mediterranean Resistance unity in France, serving there until the final battle in Phoenix, Texas. After the fall of Voldemort, wizards return to their lives as it once was, and the group of Ravenclaws known as The Eagles travel around the world writing two books on curiosities from both Muggle and wizarding society. Arien later marries Sirius Black, her former superior in the Intelligence department, and after his death goes to Hogwarts as the Charms Professor and Head  of House of Ravenclaw. One hundred and fifty years later, Arithmancy experts from the Order of Phoenix point the exact time and place of the next gate opening, and Arien crosses it to go back to Middle earth – Only Interdimensional gates are not precise in its time/space delivery and the half-elven arrives at earth on what had been her homeland (Dorian), almost three thousand years after her departure, and one hundred and nine years before the Second War of the Ring.

All Arien wanted was to find a nice place for her to settle down, continue teaching magic and  enjoy herself in peace. 

Fate had a different agenda…


	2. Chapter one: Witches of MiddleEarth, uni...

**A.N.: **To make this easy for you guys, in this year (2935 of the Third Age): Denethor was five; Aragorn was four, had been adopted (that's how it is on LoTR _tale of ages) by Elrond and renamed Estel, living in Imladris. Six years in the future Bilbo will leave his Hobyton with the twelve dwarves and find the One ring._

To calculate the year of the third age from the Antarian counting, subtract 12510 from the antarian year. 15445-2935=12510.

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Chapter one: **Witches of Middle-earth, unite! **

"Who can say  
where the road goes  
where the day flows  
only time  
And who can say  
if your love grows  
as your heart chose  
only time" _Enya_, Only time.

_@ Province of Arilin, Republic of Antar, year 2935 of the Third Age or 15445 after the foundation of the Republic._

Arien sighed contentedly. She had spent the last twenty five years traveling through the Republic and outside - making extensive use of polyjuice as she was among humans or getting close to elven borders – getting re-acquainted with her world (and she loved to travel) and also making research about the magical herbs and animals of that place. Her supplies wouldn't last forever, and she needed to find replacements. The family of unicorn she had brought with her was left loose on a protected area in the forests of En Arris. Several other animals were left on it as well, after she put heavy wards to prevent others from damaging the animals. Of course it had taken a hell of a work with the bureaucrats. But that was worth the effort. 

The province was just perfect. Out of the seven in the republic, Arilin was by a long shot, the most beautiful and enthralling of all. It had everything she might need: rivers, woods, meadows, a medium-sized urban center on the homonymous town and, anywhere one might want to look at, a breathtaking landscape. 

So Arilin it would be. Her new home. It had the inconvenience of being near the borders, but god knows if anyone would be able to defend a border, it would be her. And a good broomstick ride would take her quickly to the capitol, should need come to negotiate with the bureaucrats and politicians, or to the Eastern Sea, where, for obvious reasons, most of the population decided to live. Yes, Arilin was perfect.

"The Lady is sure about this business? Because I also have in store a great state at the Lake country that will be absolutely delightful for you. The government finally gave me leave to sell it, as it was once a national forestall park, and you see, it's absolutely quiet, as you requested. And much closer to the shores." Said the salesman. Ah, the shores. Eight out of ten renegades wanted to live near the sea. The wonderful charm of the ocean, plus the feeling of being really as far as they could from everything else on Middle-earth, made them feel a strong urge to live in the coast.

"Arilin is perfect, thank you, Coldian. I love it. May we proceed to finish this business?" she asked, her fingers itching to sign the papers saying those acres of land would be hers. Of course she had ruined the very first rule of negotiation – she had showed the salesman she was too interested. But then again, with everybody running to the shores, it was pretty much a land nobody wanted. Antares was inhabited merely by its historical value as the very first city of renegades and its status as the capitol. The inner borders were almost deserted.

The negotiations were short. She got a reasonable price over the state, and signed the papers along with the Governor Official and the witnesses. Arilin was hers. 

And if everything went right, she would become the lady of a great city _and_ a phenomenal magic school. 

Of course things were not that easy. Magic was still pretty much looked suspiciously and she had placed great care on not overstepping the boundaries. She played nice and clean – though she knew a thousand and one shortcuts to the same ends – and always gave the government a report of her plans and asked for permission when she was going to do something that could be considered dangerous, or interfering, or in any way got in the path of the government. The whole political maneuver exhausted her, but she was firm in the resolution of having official leave to begin her activities. 

Queen Valkyria, elected in 15435, was still hesitating about her intentions. The previous royal ruler, King Hayden, was obviously not a good option - she didn't want people whispering that she had somehow seduced the King to get her projects approved. So she waited for the next election before she made any moves, always taking great care about what she did and how she interacted with others. Her caution and hard work was starting to pay off, however. The citizens of Antar were getting more and more comfortable around her, now they knew she wouldn't do anything horrible to them. She had started some solid friendships – and also, in a way she found entirely slytherin (_did I get this from you, Severus?), evaluated some possible apprentices. _

The magical animals would be taken from the Forest in En Arris to her state in Arilin. She wanted them near her, where she could keep both eyes on them. Too bad she couldn't convince the centaurs to go with her.

Her truck (that had started a lot of speculation and amazement when she got in the Republic) was already parked in the meadow, shining metal against the sun, and her camp tent already made near it. She would build a house, magically of course, as soon as she had taken a more careful view of the lands and decided where the school grounds would be and where her house would be – there was plenty of space for two or three estates there. Her house would be her sanctuary, but she'd need to be at the school most the time.

Arien had requested, for the umpteenth time, permission to build a school of Magic in Antar. And Valkyria – poor lady, still afraid and doing her best to refuse politely without infuriating the enigmatic witch – refused again. 

And God knows patience was not the best of Arien traits. 

When Valkyria gets new of this acquirement, she'll have no doubt about Arien's intention - Arien had let them be quite clear from the beginning. 

Screw it. 

There was no law against buying a nice state in which she could be alone to lick her wounds, no matter whatever the hell the Queen might think. And she might as well start thinking about the design of the school, its passageways and secret rooms (or else it would be no fun at all!), how she would enchant doors to look like walls, and walls to look like doors, and make the stairs change. After all, the projects of the school as she envisioned it – the best of Hogwarts and Avalon – would take a great deal of time.

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_@ Antares, the national capitol; Province of En Arris, Republic of Antar, May 14th of 2950 of the Third Age or 15460 A.R.._

Her sandals made no sound in the wide meeting room. The young queen wasn't particularly beautiful, but Valkyria certainly had that aura that made people look at her twice and unconsciously want to treat her reverently. 

Arien was younger than the queen by several centuries – most of the renegades were older than the witch, and she would be treated only as a prodigiously talented child, if it wasn't for the wits and guts she had developed during her stay at Earth. Now the renegades knew better than to underestimate her, and she was treated like an adult. 

Most tiresome. 

The Royal counselors opened space for the queen, and Arien found herself standing face to face with the renegade that held the power on the seven provinces. Valkyria was four inches shorter even in her high heels, gray eyes in midnight black hair, and eyes that betrayed a strong personality and intelligence. 

Arien lowered her head a few inches and put her hand on her chest, saluting her queen. Valkyria had the sense to release her from that display of subservience quickly. 

"My Lady." Arien said, and waited for Valkyria to make the next move

 "Lady Arien," Valkyria acknowledged, and turned her back to sit at the simple throne on the head of the room. "I have been thinking about your request for the school for years now." She twisted her lips as if going to chew them, but stopped in mid movement. Most odd. Arien stood there, trying to control her body- or else she would certainly make a fool of herself. 

"And Milady has come to a decision." Arien stated. It was the epitome of understatement – the Queen of Antar would certainly not find time on her crazy schedule to talk to her about naught. They had been having those conversations for years, her probing, questioning, examining, and Arien summoning all her calm and (quickly fading ) patience to answer the questions in a satisfying way. 

It was just so absurd! Okay, so giving _anyone wizarding training __was a dangerous thing. There's always the possibility the guy will turn dark. But the others will be ready to defend themselves, against the elves, the men, other wizards and basically everything that might try to harm them. _

_Infinite power_. There was a reason why Valkyria was hesitant. 

"I decided to give you leave to open the school." The Queen continued, her voice quavering the smallest bit "with the condition I will name some people of my trust to be taken as apprentices." 

"**No**." Arien said without blinking. Valkyria shot on her a steely gray stare. 

"Why not?" 

Arien armed herself with the very last drops of her patience. The Queen could be infuriating in her innocence sometimes. She was just so absurdly simple and honest, she judged people by her own heart and thought nobody able of malice until she had been given proof of their dark hearts. A very dangerous belief. 

"This is no game, milady. I cannot take apprentices just because _you_ trust them. _I have to be convinced of their worthiness or else the results may be catastrophic. So, milady, __I am choosing the apprentices, and no one else." _

Valkyria could be expelling fume through her ears, given the intensity of her anger. Arien had found a few renegades who had the same abilities than herself as a mind reader – or similar. She knew Valkyria was not one of them – not a _Comyn_, or equal. The Queen was not a telepath. Perhaps that was the time for a drastic measure. 

Indolently, Arien slipped her wand off her sleeve and into her hands. The counselors got immediately worried_- and they damn well should_ – and waved it in front of the queen. To her credit, she didn't flinch, standing there proud in her short height, her gaze never faltering. 

Arien turned her back to the counselors and shot her first enchantment. "_Petrifus totallus_." 

They went rigid as stones, even when they could still roll their eyes. Valkyria blinked then, staring at them with a – Arien thought it was priceless – expression of amazement and disbelief. Them she turned at Arien in angry defiance. 

"You'll never get what you want with that_, witch_. The people of Antar will never forgive you for it." 

The redheaded laughed quietly and replies" Really, Your Majesty? I think they might even thank me." 

Valkyria might be older, but she was positively _way more innocent. _

Arien then took a small vial out of her pockets and turned to the queen. "See this?" the royal nodded, fascinated, as the prey who can't run from a serpent. '_I owe you big for this, Severus'_. "This is a potion we wizards call Veritaserum. It makes absolutely impossible for the drinker to lie for the next couple of hours. Now, what if I did slip some drops of it in the throats of some of your... people of trust? And we see what happens?" 

Valkyria did more than blink then, and opened her mouth like a goldfish. Most an un-elfish thing, but they were renegades instead of elves, so who cared. Arien calmly put three drops in each counselor's mouth, and looked at the Royal Ruler with a smug smile plasted on her face. 

"No, there is anything you might want to know from the people you trust so much?" 

Valkyria recovered her Queenly pride and raised her head, "No. I trust them." 

"You do, don't you?" another chuckle. "_Finite Incantatem. _Now... let's see. Daymon. Did Valkyria tell you she'd ask you to be an apprentice of mine?" 

The renegade stared blankly at the horizon, staying perfectly still. "yes." He answered. 

"When you have that power, Daymon, what would you do?" 

"I would take down the other apprentices, kill you and rise as an emperor here." 

"Wow, a usurper. Amazing how trust can be betrayed, don't you think, Valkyria?" Arien asked rhetorically to the royal ruler, who was still frozen on her spot. Then the witch turned to the next. 

"Your name?" 

"My mother called me Rachsell, but I changed my name when I reached the republic to Rammil." 

Rachsell meant curse-child in sindarin. His mom must have been one of those who were violated at the First Age, and apparently she didn't love him very much. Not all renegades had as much luck as Arien had, having a family who actually _cared._

"Then, Rammil, what did you think when you were told you were going to study magic?" 

"I thought it would be rubbish. This things do not exist." 

"But I have deprived you of your ability to move."

Rammil said simply "Yes." 

One by one Arien questioned the counselors, exposing their souls and their secret plans. Valkyria got more and more flabbergasted by the minute, and finally gave up the pretense of superiority. 

"That is, milady, why I will choose my pupils myself, and no one else, including you, will have a say in the matter. The first students are crucial, as they will help me to teach others when the school is built and I cannot have a traitor among them." 

The two renegades stared at one another, blue fighting against gray. 

"Release them from your spell." Valkyria commanded, as she was not alone in the room with a very powerful witch holding her wand against her bewitched counselors. 

"As you wish, milady." Arien said, "but I may warn you not to say anything about this to them. They'll remember nothing, and you'll only endanger yourself." 

"They're not monsters!" Valkyria lost her nerves, something Arien was yet to see even after years of difficult negotiations. 

"No, they are survivors. As we all are. This is a lesson I'll give you for free, Valkyria: people are not good. Not entirely, I mean. There's always a bit of dark inside them, and you need to be aware of this or else you'll only be a fool." 

The witch raised her wand in the direction of the counselors. "You tried to give them a power much beyond your understanding, Valkyria. This is not a game, I tell you again. This must be both the final insurance that no one will ever mess with us, or in the wrong hands, be our ruin. We must be sure we have a good number of faithful wizards before we can start teaching this to all renegade who has the talent –if ever. _Ennervate._" 

"I'm afraid I can't accept your terms, milady. We'll meet again, I'm sure." The witch said with a final curtsy, and turned to leave – even thought she hadn't been given leave to retire. But Valkyria, in spite of trusting people too much, knew Arien wouldn't bend to her. Even when Valkyria was respected, she wouldn't be reverenced. That's the way it goes, of course, as they were all renegades at heart, proud of their own ability to survive in hostile environments and defiant and self-sufficient . 

It was a tough decision. The younger renegade had bared her most in-depth fears as she said. _This must be both the final insurance that no one will ever mess with us, or in the wrong hands, be our ruin._ The stakes were too high. 

But the witch had also let it quite clear that, if she had wanted it, she could have simply forced them to do whatever she pleased. And Arien _had been_ in a room alone with her, holding her wand, and didn't do her any harm- in the opposite, she had opened her eyes to the true intentions of the people she had trusted unconditionally. 

Wasn't it a spell ? had she enchanted me to believe my faithful advisors are traitors, ordinary and … or not. Oh, gods! 

Valkyria would have no advice on that matter. She knew the witch wanted to do things the right way, but also Arien was one, she knew with all the certainty of her heart, with a very short fuse. She was too young to have fully learned the value of patience – _even I am too young to understand patience fully!_. 

The counselors were still shaking their heads, absolutely oblivious to the horrors they had said. Later, no one would remember anything unusual happening at the meeting room. That would be a secret Arien and Valkyria kept to themselves forever. 

"Arien." 

"Yes, milady?" the redheaded stopped at the door, and turned. 

"You have permission to proceed as you wish. The document with The Royal Seal will be on your room by nightfall." Valkyria said, with the ghost of a smile. 

"I thank you, milady. Now, if you excuse me …" 

"Yes, you may leave." 

The door of the meeting room closed silently, separating a very frightened, very lost young queen, her not-so-perfect counselors and the witch who was bent on changing the history of Antar.

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@ Arilin, province of Arilin, Aryan School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, February 12th of 15470 A.R.

She had finished. Arien sat on her armchair, in the rooms she had made for herself. For the _headmistress_. '_Jesus, help me' _was the thought chanting on her mind. 

"Nervous, dear?' asked the painting before her. The young, beaming face of her foster sister, Ginny Weasley Malfoy, was shown in all splendor of her youth – it wasn't hard to think they were blood sisters, after all. They were so alike. It had been funny, people had even whispered Arien could be the result of an affair of Mr. Weasley… _how pathetic_.

Arien let her gaze linger on the picture before her: it was a holiday in the burrow. The people were going everywhere, drinking wine, talking, and playing with the children on the floor. How badly she missed them all. Having that picture may not be the wisest decision ever, but she couldn't bring herself not to look, not to remember….

"Very. I've waited for this to come true for so long… I wonder what will happen if they don't accept me. They're all so much older, so much more experienced than me…"

 "You did just fine when we were training body combat in Hogwarts, Enn" Ron replied, coming from the kitchen, barely visible on the left corner of the painting. His compliment was very precious because at first, Ronald Weasley was suspicious of her. 

"I know. But we were children back then." The half-elven whispered.

"You'll do just fine. We defeated the Dark Lord together, remember? You'll be okay. They will love you. And if they don't, kick their sorry arses off the school." Ronny reassured her, nonchalantly. His unconditional support did lift her spirits a bit. Enough for her to go change into a more 'wizardly' robe, and give a final glance on her quarters before going down to welcome her pupils.

The quarter was not like the one Dumbledore had had for himself in Hogwarts, but more like a mixture between the Ravenclaw dorms and her room in Black Manor – it had a personal library, a comfortable living room, and her bedroom. Everything had been decorated in blue and white, with pearly columns embellished by plants in front of the veranda. It had her name written all over. And windows – lots of windows, with baby blue curtains on it. She had chosen a nearly white wood to make the furniture. 

Lovely. Cozy. Wonderful.

Aryan School of Wizardry and Witchcraft (_1) was built. And her first apprentices would arrive in the morning._

She had chosen them carefully. Valkyria would step down from the Blue Palace in a few years and Arien's back would be vulnerable; the whole nation just waiting for her to make a mistake. _A mistake she wasn't willing to make_.

The wizards and witches to be would arrive at Arilin at dawn to start their training. People Arien had thoroughly probed and tested till she knew for sure they would be a safe shot – the original list had had over fifty names, but she narrowed it down to the current twenty_. _

_Let the party begin,_ she thought complacently.

~*~ later ~*~

Elorie came first – intelligent pale green eyes and honey colored hair - _(reminds me of Hermione...)_ knocking at the main door as the sun left the protection of the hills and shone on the lands of Esperanza. The name meant 'hope', and that was all Arien could think about for her new home.

The doors opened themselves with a flick of Arien's wand. Elorie didn't flinch, but her eyes widened visibly with that.

"Good day, dear. Did you have a nice journey?" Arien asked, with a smug smile on her face. She just loved to do those kinds of things. Elorie pulled herself together quickly and smiled.

"Yes, milady. It was most satisfying." Her voice was firm and even. _Ah, courage._

"Oh, please!" Arien dismissed her statement with a wave of her hand. "You won't call me Lady. I'm too young for that. Call me Arien, as everybody else did before."

"if you wish – Arien."

"Better. Oh, I do believe we'll have company soon." Arien stated, looking directly at the raising sun. their eyes could perceive four dark figures against the morning light, riders approaching the castle.

"Are they the other pupils?" asked Elorie. The horses were approaching quickly.

"They better." Laughed Arien, "I don't like intruders on my parties."

Elorie stiffened a bit on hearing that. "Relax," soothed Arien; "I don't bite."

Four riders dismounted then, and approached the two ladies at the mahogany doors.

"Milady," said the tallest of them, with a short curtsy. Arien groaned. '_guess I'll wait till everybody is assembled to enlighten those little things...' _

"Dalton. Have you had a safe journey?"

"Yes, milady," Arien flinched almost imperceptibly. "I saw others on the road. They won't be late." He said fixing his emerald gaze on hers. '_Whoa! Wait a bit, lad. Teacher-student relationship is a bit too complicated even for a freak trouble addict like myself. But we may have a nice little chat after this is over.'_

Arien scanned the lands of Esperanza. She had five of her students before her, and the other fifteen were on their way. She looked at the four who hadn't said a thing yet – they were still staring at the castle - it wasn't a usual building on Middle-earth. Palaces, some. Big towers, yes. But castles? Not really.

And nothing was like that castle, for sure. Arien though even Versailles paled in comparison. She _had been in lots of places around Earth, and recently at Middle-earth and she _had had _ a lot of experience with architecture. She had spent most of her time at Earth preparing herself for this - and her castle was marvelous, with no fake modesty._

"And how are you, my darlings?" she said, purposely using the endearment. If some of them were not used to showing their emotions in actions and words, they would learn it soon. And they'd learn that she didn't have any shame of showing them, or of living according to her own conscience and not the convenience of others- being a witch and knowing the muggles on the twentieth first century had certainly ingrained her independent spirit.

They were confused for some time, but then proceed to introduce themselves to the other colleagues. Soon another group came, and another, and another, and she had all pupils gathered near the doors.

"Let's get inside, please. Breakfast is waiting."

The renegades walked through an elegant entrance hall and to a huge dinning room. There were four wide tables side by side and one table across them, in the end of the room.

"To the High table, if you don't mind." Arien directed, and the pupils followed her. The tables were made of oak and had thirty seats on it, all on one side, facing the four tables. "This is where the teachers will eat every meal. The students eat on these tables in front of us. Now, I believe I promised you some breakfast."

Food appeared on the table instantly after she spoke her last word. Barely audible gasps were heard around the table.

"This is merely a little trick. Save your amazement for something more relevant." Arien stated. "Now, eat! There's not poison in the food, in the case you've been wondering."

Breakfast was lovely. It was the first time those renegades were gathered together. They were from different provinces and had different backgrounds. Dalton was a renegade from the province of Lake Country- his parents were a second generation, and he was a third. Elorie was from En Arris, her parents both influent politicians - another reason why Arien had chosen her, and she was a fourth generation. Selton was a first generation like herself, but he was several thousand years older, being the oldest of them all. The sorting would most definitely be interesting.

And that was yet another weird thing about it. Her mother always told her that she'd live about six thousand years. And before her, in all splendor of his youth, was a renegade who was sixteen thousand years – and still looking like a twenty-five or twenty-six years old mortal.

Odd.

What else was a myth about the half-elven? What else was a myth about Middle earth? Who held the answers?

"The meal was delicious, Milady." Said Selton, with the slightest trace of malice under his wise, all-knowing eyes. Having him around would be both very educational – for her and for others – and nerve-wrecking. How does anyone teach a guy sixteen thousand years older than yourself? She smiled and nodded, repeating to herself the absolute need to get them to call her by her first name soon.

The title of Lady didn't fit her. Not at all.

"Now, here's a little something for you," Arien said, taking a hat out of a trunk behind her chair. "This is a replica of the hat that sorted me. Of course I couldn't bring the original one, so I had to duplicate it. I will put this on your heads, and it will tell you what house you'll be at. But remember, everything that is said and done inside this walls are secret until we decide it's safe to release information to the public."

_'Of course it wasn't safe to go out in Antar (or anywhere else, for that matter) and say: hey, I'm just coming back from an interdimensional trip where I learned all this kinds of nice stuff. Cool, huh_?'

The hat came to life and started singing – it told the story of Hogwarts school and how Arien had decided to bring the knowledge to Middle Earth. In the end, it sang the qualities that would put them into four different houses, and how their houses would be their families.

They took some time digesting the news.

"What was your house, Arien?" asked Elorie.

"I will answer that question in a few years, Elorie. I don't want it to interfere in your education. However, there is one thing I must say: at Hogwarts, There were houses that fought all the time, but here I won't allow it. You will get along and treat one another with consideration and respect. Am I clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." They all answered unanimously. _Good._

"Oh, and something else." The air tensed around her. "We are the pioneers in this kind of thing, and we call one another by our first names in here. Right?"

After some more answering question and enlightening some doubts, Arien asked them to put the hat. Elorie was the first to try the hat.

"Gryffindor!"

Selton. "Gryffindor!" (_no surprise there, a survivor will certainly develop some courage.)_

Lavignia. "Hufflepuff!" (_ the hat took some time before speaking. Check later what was the other option.)_

Uliana. "Hufflepuff!" _(immediate )_

Dalton. "Slytherin!" (_ah, that's interesting. _Rather interesting_.)_

Amaelys. "Ravenclaw!"

Damon. "Slytherin!"

And on and on the hat put them into their houses. And the instruction began.

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@ Aryan School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, Arilin province, Antar. May 5th of 15495.

The door opened with a loud 'bump!' And Elorie stepped inside of the gryffindor common room. It was all decorated in gold and red, of course, as it was the colors of the house. By the fireplace, stood her classmates- if one could call them so, they were under a rather unusual experience, being the first students and all. All of them knew their mistress would ask them – at least some of them – to remain at Aryan and help her teach the others when time comes.

Elorie wished fervently to be one of them.

"Arien asked us to be ready in fifteen minutes. We'll be the first to vote in Antares." She stated, trying to get the attention of the two wizards reading on the couch. Selton was the oldest, and very often the one who gave them all guidance and advice as soon as it wasn't about magic (not that he wasn't good, but that position was often filled by the Ravenclaws or by Arien herself). Säer and Callista were discussing something that looked absurdly important, but probably was only another argument about the virtues of Quidditch over the other sports played in Antar.

 "Why would she be so interested on making us go first?" asked Karilyn, the other Gryffindor. Selton shut his book and stared at his classmates with a smug-looking- I-know-something-you-don't look.

"What?" asked Elorie; she was the younger of the Gryffindors.

"Nothing." He answered, but kept his body signs open and wary. He was teasing them.

"Oh, please, Selton, what is that?" Karilyn tried again. Selton chuckled a little- he obviously found funny the young's attempts at perceiving the obvious.

"Mark my words, dear Gryffindors: I'll be the winner of our little bet."

There was a bet going on as to which house Arien had been sorted. So far the opinions were quite divided, but the majority of them seemed to think she had been either a Gryffindor or a Slytherin.

"She's not a Ravenclaw. She's a Slytherin." Karilyn objected.

"She is a Ravenclaw." Selton stated for god-only-knows- how- many-times. "And she is making us go first because her principal supporter is going to step down from power in one year, and she wants to look good in the new government's eyes."

"Purely slytherin plot. I'm getting the money, Selton." Karilyn retorted. 

"If you say so." He replied. 

"You can discuss what house she's at when we are riding our brooms to the capitol. Now go get yourselves ready!" Elorie cried. 

"Not so loud, 'Lorie, we all have keen hearing here." Complained Säer.

"They why don't you listen to me?" Elorie was exasperated now. 

"Yes, mom." Selton teased. "We're just getting our candies."

"Hmph!" was what he got for an answer.

"Open mind and wit, remember? Ravenclaw material, Säer, if I ever saw one."

"You don't have that much of an experience with the houses. None of us have."

"Your point being?"

"Oh, go get ready the two of you! We're getting late!" cried Elorie, louder than before. Säer put his elegant and long fingers on his ears, trying to block the sound.

"Pal, she doesn't behave like a mother, but like a marshal." He complained, his ears still buzzing.

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@ Antares, Province of En Arris, two days later.

The official spokesman of the Government of the Seven Provinces of Antar walked swiftly to the small podium in the center of the last stair. There was a large crowd standing below the stairs of the Blue Palace, waiting to know the results of the election. As usual, they had two candidates, the liberal Aimé and the conservative Kenan. The months of debates and campaign scrutiny had been – as usual – very tense and very, very competitive. It was the future of a nation that prided itself in individual freedom, innovation and strength that was being decided. For the next thirty years, one of them would be the most powerful figure in the political field.

And in the first line of the crowd, stood twenty-one renegades in forest green robes, with the crest of Aryan.

The whole nation had held their breaths when that _child_ came from nowhere and announced that she wanted to share with her siblings her magic, knowledge and power. Of course the proposal was bold, and of course it sent chills down everyone's spine, from both fear and excitement. Succeeding, it would be eternal freedom and the power to keeping at bay the numerous wolves that were by history and tradition, enemies of renegades. Failing, it would be a second Age of Chaos – and would Antar survive another one?

Eventually, Queen Valkyria – very young, very talented, and very, very ahead of her time, even for Antarian standards – had given the witch leave to do it. And Arien had built a – what was the name? Castle. – and selected some of the most gifted renegades ever seen in history. And they had been under her wings ever since, going home only a few weeks a year, to stay with their family and catch up with the outside world. It already lasted twenty five years, so whatever she was teaching them, it must be pretty hard stuff, or very extensive, or both. The students spoke of her with adoration, even when she was so clearly younger and not as mature as many of them – there wasn't a single pupil younger than Arien. And rumors said the school would be opened soon, still highly selective of who came in.

No wonder. She was offering power beyond imagination.

"I am honored to announce" said the spokesman, looking directly at the crowd below him. Every renegade turned into immediate silence. "That Milady Aimé of Lake Country will be our Queen for the next thirty years. The numbers were..."

The twenty one wizards and witches let out a sigh of pure relief. They were relatively safe under liberal ruling, at least until the school got strength of its own and became an institution on itself.

"Let's go home." Said Arien, with a wicked grin that spoke volumes of her joy. 

"Let me get the papers milady." Lunäere asked, and run to the salesman as soon as Arien nodded. 

"Have I ever told you how _odd is to order around people several thousand years older than myself?" Arien asked in awe._

"Only about a thousand times." Answered Pyrrhus, flashing his bottomless black eyes on her, Arien groaned.'_ Why did I have to resolve being honored just when I have about ten wonderfully attractive males around me?'_

"Don't start with that, Pyrr, or I'll throw a particularly nasty curse on you," Arien mocked outrage, knowing they all knew she was just playing around.

'_Why o why did I have to decide to be a decent teacher when I'm surrounded by so attractive males? It's not as if I would corrupt them or something. Jesus, they're some bloody thousand years older than I am. But no, I just have to develop this sick code of honor. Great.'_

_'Honor is not a good bedmate. Period.'_

"Lavignia, I thought you had taken care of this sorry excuse of a lad ages ago." Arien turned to Lavignia with a sick feeling of satisfaction when the Hufflepuff blushed ever so slightly. Lavignia had often shared the bed with Pyrr, as had many other students, his age or not. Those black eyes were just irresistible. '_ and I'm the only one who spends her nights bloody alone. The Eagles would be absolutely appalled if they knew of my current behavior, they'd get me locked in the psychiatric ward of St. Mungus right away.'_

"He is not for long relationships, _milady" Lav answered, carefully stressing the _Milady_ knowing Arien hated the title._

"That hurt, Lav." Said Pyrr in mock brokenhearted act.

The other wizards got together to make fun of the lad on the spot, but on seeing that, the Hufflepuffs quickly got to his aid. When Lunäere got back, they were still bickering merrily.

And they were still doing so as they flied back home.

And the wizards were getting along just nicely. '_Maybe you only needed a strong identification and more things in common than merely being a wizard to keep the houses going along so well.'_

_'Because I'm not really sure anyone on Earth would believe that Gryffindor and Slytherin could actually get along nicely.'_

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A.N.: 

(1) – Aryan means (play along) beginning, start, genesis. (in the language of Antar.)

(2) – Elorie and Arilin are names out of the Darkover series. Dalton and Selton are names of actors I like (=] ); En Arris I took out of the GURPS manual. Lol. Sabé, Padmé, and some names were taken from SW.


	3. Chapter two: The not quite so calm befor...

**Chapter Two: The (not quite so) calm before the storm.**

"I  
I remember  
Standing  
By the wall  
The guns  
They shot above our heads  
And we kissed  
As though nothing could fall  
And the shame  
Was on the other side  
We can beat them  
For ever and ever  
We can be Heroes  
Just for one day  
We can be Heroes  
We can be Heroes  
We can be Heroes  
We can be  
Heroes  
Just for one day" Heroes, The Wallflowers.

_@ Arilin, province of Arilin, Aryan School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, February 12th of 15528 A.R._

The head of House of Slytherin, Damon, walked hurriedly to the headmistress chambers. 

There was no real problem with the students, renegades got along fairly well, and Aryan only accepted the very best applicants. This wasn't about school, it was about Antar. 

"Mi ... " he started saying, absentmindedly, but stopped when he saw her arched eyebrow. "Arien. Queen Aimé requires a meeting with you as soon as possible. Elorie just handed me the message." 

The headmistress furrowed her brows even more in concentration. There were other wizards, older and wiser. Why on Middle-Earth did Aimé kept calling her? 

"Good recommendations from Valkyria, I suppose," Answered Damon to her unspoken question. Small wonder, as he was a Comyn as well. Only with way more practice at mind reading. "and you have more experience with magic." He continued. 

"And my theories suit her better?" Arien mused, looking at the renegade before her. With burgundy hair, pale blue eyes and being six feet four tall, Damon didn't have the irresistible appeal of Pyrr, but he certainly had his charm. Hell, everybody had _some_ kind of charm in that country. 

"I guess so, Arien." He conceded with an iron-melting smile. "You better go by Floo, the note suggested a little urgency." 

"Urgency?" 

"Yes, hiril nîn." 

"Gather the staff. Cancel the classes for the rest of the day. We'll go together." 

You had to be very brave or very brazen to call others to a private meeting with the Royal Ruler of the Seven Provinces – and Arien was both. With a curt nod, Damon left her chambers to go to what she called 'radio station'. 

"_Sonorus. _This is Professor Damon. All classes are cancelled for the day under orders from the headmistress. All teachers meet in the headmistress' office in ten minutes. Repeat, All teachers meet in the headmistress' office in ten minutes. _Quietus." _

There. He'd done it. A full day free of classes, it would be student's paradise.

The classrooms doors opened to a flow of students to leave for their common rooms, or to the Quidditch pitch, or to the library. 

The library of Aryan was famous throughout Antar. They held over one hundred thousand titles from literature to science, from psychology to politics, from herbology to Arithmancy (even when Arien was far from good at that subject. They had had to figure out the subject from the books.). 

Ten minutes later Aryan's staff was assembled in the office. Elorie from Gryffindor was happily chatting with Laetitia, the Head Girl of Slytherin of 15512, and current Arithmancy teacher. The former Arithmancy teacher, Darien, had been killed defending the borders on the province of Lake Country from an attack of the Easterlings. It had been the very first time they had suffered an attack in many millennia, and Darien foolishly forgot to place protective charms on himself before going to help. As a result, he died from a very ill fated arrow on his neck. When help arrived, there was hardly a thing to do - he was already gone. 

Arien had her back turned to them as she was talking with some of her former students through the fireplace - most of the wizards had eagerly embraced the Floo network conception. 

"Anything else, Selton? We're in the dark, here." She asked her former pupil, now Minister of Magic. They had decided to keep the Ministry of Magic a branch of the government, as to avoid creating an abyss among the renegades. Unity above all things. Selton, who had much more wisdom and skill to deal with the intricacies of the game, had volunteered to occupy that strategical place. 

"The spies the Queen sent are to return in a few days. We convinced her to send a wizard with each searching party, and only with their return we'll be able to say something more accurate." 

"Damn." She muttered. Selton's head chuckled in the green flames. 

"Language, language, dear." 

"Will I see you at the meeting?" she inquired, leaving very obvious she had no intention on minding her language. Selton was overly protective, if anyone asked her. Talk about a weird relationship. She had more experience with magic than they did, but they were more experienced in life than she was, and it was really difficult to build a hierarchy. In the end, they had unconsciously slipped to 'we respect everyone else' mode and went on with their complicated lives, laughing at the –often- awkward situations. But hell, it did eat at her sometimes. 

"Of course. See you at Antares, Enn." He said affectionately. 

"See you there, dad." She teased.

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_@ Antares, the national capitol of Antar, Province of En Arris. February 14th of 15528 A.R._

Once again, the council of wizards of Aryan was brought before the Queen of Antar. They were an unofficial bureau of the Ministry of Magic – that was almost a government inside the government, but not quite so – and often called to help the Minister or the Queen when need came. Well, need definitely came now. 

Thirty-seven wizards and witches walked through the door of the meeting room, where the non-magical (in _that_ sense, because all of them were a bit magical) members of the council were already seated. Greetings were exchanged in worried tones as they all waited for the queen to join. Aimé was very much alike the former ruler – just a bit taller in appearance, and stronger and more down-to-earth in her beliefs. The whole council rose to greet their queen, but she quickly waved them to sit. 

"Good evening, everyone." She said, and both her detached choice of words and her tired voice were signs of how serious the situation was. 

The captain of the militia asked leave to report. Aimé merely nodded to him. 

_'She doesn't seem to have gotten any rest in these past days...' Arien thought. Damon, on her right, agreed silently. The Comyn were sitting together – Selton, Arien, Elorie, Damon and at the end of the line, the empathy expert of the group, Uliana. The others were mostly wizards from what they used to call '_the first harvest'._ _

"We have received reports of our watchers of disturbance on the south. Whatever it is, it's something below the line of the Rhûn. The goblins are appearing at the wastelands, attacking our people-" several faces grimaced around the table. Orcs and goblins nearly never knew the difference between a renegade and an elf, and thought Antar was only a huge elven kingdom. But since the walls had been constructed, thirteen and a half thousand years ago, they had lived in peace, happily isolated from the outside world. The army was kept only for tradition and precaution, and why on earth were the goblins defying them _now_? There's the fact they're not known for their wisdom, but anyway... 

The marshal continued "our spies report it has been happening all over Middle earth. And it seems to have started quite a few years ago, in the woods of Mirkwood."

_'Greenwood. What was it? I heard the name before...'_

"South of Ered Mithrin." Elorie whispered. 

'_Oh, Greenwood."'_

"Our reports say that it started as a commotion at Dol Guldur –" 

**'_At where?' _Arien wordlessly asked the other Comyns. '_Far_ _South of Greenwood.' _Dalton replied. 

"And for some time the … it was thought the one responsible was a group of wizards, leaded by a Witch King or something. They are the Nazgûl, or the Ringwraiths. It turned out it had been Sauron, _again. Anyway, they had three meetings of this … White Council" _

"Trust the elves to name a meeting." Spat Kalliath, the governor of Velda, and several heads nodded fervently. 

The marshal tried to gather his audience's attention once more "On the third, they agreed on taking action, and that's when Sauron's identity was known as the person responsible by the attacks –" 

"The short version, Anndra, if you don't mind." Arien interrupted. 

The marshal had the grace of not looking overly chastised, while Aimé was merely amused_. It__ was_ a common occurrence, after all, for Arien to lose her patience during the lectures. 

"As I was saying, it started at Dol Guldur. Sauron moved away, and returned to his fortress of Barad-dûr in Mordor. All evidence points to him attacking Gondor and Rohan first, as they are vulnerable and hardly have people enough to defend themselves. " 

"What are our chances against him?" asked Aimé, looking at the wizarding part of her bureau. 

'_How the hell will I know? I am not in charge of the Antarian army, dammit!'_ Arien thought, startling the other telepaths a bit. Selton, of course, jumped to the practical aspects of the problem. 

"What is the condition of our army?" 

"We only maintain an army for precaution. I think we can safely say we have eight hundred soldiers currently employed at the army, but the very nature of this nation allows me to say that, shall the needs come, we would count on almost the totality of the population to defend the borders." 

Renegades - Survivors. They took great pride on translating the word that way. All the leaders on the table understood that, if Sauron were to try an attack upon them, he would feel sorry for ever giving it a thought. 

"I think the time has come, hiril Arien, in which you'll have to prove your claim of being able to defend this country with your magic." Aimé spoke softly. But of course everybody in the room heard. 

"Will you give me _carte blanche_, Milady?" the redheaded witch inquired. Aimé merely blinked. 

"Excuse me?" the Antarian were oblivious to the _terranan expressions Arien used every now and then. _

"If I'm doing this, then I want to have absolute freedom in my movements." 

"And what would that … freedom … allow you to do, hiril nîn?" Aimé tested her waters. 

"I would want…" Arien started saying something , but stopped and retreated deep within her mind to calculate her possibilities. "An experienced marshal" she winced at Anndra, "And as many strategists as I could gather. And I'd like too release some spies throughout Middle-earth as well. And I'd train a group of wizards in wizarding war. No offence against the traditional techniques, but I just hardly think we're defeating Sauron with a bow." 

"Arien, love," Selton explained lovingly. "That's exactly what we are doing here." 

"No." she chuckled. "I mean, really go inside the lion's den. That would require a large amount of Polyjuice, and that would take a month's time to get done." She clarified, and Selton finally saw the light of day. "And I'll probably try to handle the situation before the goblins reach our borders. Okay, they already have, but that's something we can deal quickly. My point is, if Sauron conquers all other lands around us, we might still have a chance, but it would take too much effort and, unfortunately, much more lives lost. I don't want to try that path." 

"You mean … join forces with the other people of Middle-earth?" asked Verlat, a counselor, horrified. 

"That's our best shot." Agreed Selton. "Even if it's not a pleasurable one."

"I can't assure the safety of any renegade outside our borders, Arien, this is folly!" Aimé cried, losing her buoyancy.

"Not if they are wizards. We can survive basically anything." 

"Darien _died_ at Lake Country's attack, Arien." 

"He was careless. It may happen with anyone. But we'll be on our guards."

"_We?" _asked Selton, wondering who she would drag with her and, more importantly, why she was so interested on going herself. 

"Myself, and someone else I will consider later." A brief glance around the table told her exactly what they were thinking- in spite of her extraordinary curriculum, she was too _damn young_. 

"I have experience with wizarding wars, you don't. I have experience with spying, you don't. And I have traveled throughout Middle-Earth recently and you haven't. Questions?" 

"And who do you plan to take with you, a gryffindor?" Elorie assumed immediately. 

"I resent that." Damon said. 

"We're the brave house, aren't we?" Elorie counter attacked.

"It's not about bravery, but about keeping guts and not blowing the cover. I was thinking in the lines of a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin." Arien explained. 

"Now_ I _resent that." Pouted Elorie. 

"Would that be me?" Damon said in half-questioning, half-statement. 

"If you want to take the job, I'd say it would be perfect. You're a fully-fledged wizard, you're cunning, you have some experience I may need, and we're both Comyn. It would certainly be good for us to go together."

"What about Aryan?" asked Elorie. 

"We'll have to find replacements for us during the brewing of the potion. And you'll have to assume as headmistress for the time I'm away. Apart from that, we have no other problems." 

After that part of the plan was settled, the committee went to planning the position of the actual army and their probably war strategies, like the strengthening of the walls, navy units to defend the coats and so on. The meeting lasted all day long. 

hr width=50%

__

_@ Hobyton, The Shire, April 12th of 15528 A.R._

Frodo hadn't seen Gandalf for almost nine years, and before that the wizard had visited him briefly throughout the years. He used to come after nightfall and leave before dawn. It was a shock for him to listen the trademark knock on his door. 

'knock, knock, knock-knock'. 

"Well, well…" said Gandalf, "You look the same as always, Frodo!" 

"So do you." Frodo replied joyfully, but in his heart he thought that the wizard seemed old and tired. But he asked about the world outside, and they talked animatedly all night long.

But when daylight came, Gandalf talked with Frodo about the Rings of Power, and about that one particular ring Frodo had received as an heirloom from his dear Uncle Bilbo, and about the story of the war of the ring, about Isildur and about the creature Gollum. 

And in the Baggins' living room, they talked and talked, and Frodo learned of the danger lurking after him and all free people of Middle-earth. And they arranged to meet again at the Pouncing Pony, in the village of Bree. But Frodo would have to be very careful, and till the last minute all other hobbits would have to think he was just moving to another part of the Shire. 

Or almost all other hobbits, because Samwise Gamgee was spying on him, at request of Meriadoc Brandebuque and Peregrin Tuck, his cousins, who were all concerned about the odd behavior of Frodo the past years. They knew him enough to know Frodo Baggins was up to something.

And so Frodo started making the arrangements to his leaving – but he lingered too long. When he finally left his house, the Nazgul were already on his tracks.

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_@Mirkwood, Palace of the King Thranduil, June 20th of 3018 of the Third Age._

Legolas was thoroughly distressed. 

They had had more problems than their usual share since Aragorn and Mithrandir had stopped by and asked them to keep that particular prisoner last year . They said the name of the creature was Gollum. And what a disgusting creature that was. He refused to bath, plaguing the elven keener senses with his foul smell, cursed most of the time with a hissing voice, and kept calling all beautiful things they had in Mirkwood foul. 

Gollum was so corrupted by evil all beauty was foul for him. 

Legolas would normally do his best to keep distance from the creature, but he was one of the greatest warriors of the realm, and Mithrandir had told his father in no uncertain terms to keep the creature in safe hold. 

Gollum had been behaving strangely lately, climbing on trees. The creature loathed the light of day, so they were forced to set him to walk on the moonlight. 

One could say anything about the elves of Mirkwood. That they were strange, for one – dealing with the mortal men of the village of Valle, being at once frolicking and a bit childish, being very powerful, very fierce and unpredictable and not as wise and serene as the Noldor. And that they had kept distance from some groups of elves, though the prince couldn't tell the reason why for his immortal life. But they were good hosts, hospitable and caring, even with prisoners. The only true exception he remembered to that rule had been a group of dwarves –but they had invaded their territory, refused to say a word about anything and, for all that it means, they were **_dwarves_**. 

So Legolas went out of his stone palace- for the sylvan elves of Mirkwood lived in a palace built inside the mountain since the shadow had come to their forest. His father, the king, had told him their forest was once called Greenwood. But then the shadow came, and the spiders, and some other nameless dark creatures, and the wood became dark, and they changed its name to Mirkwood. But it was still a beautiful forest, full of life and mystery, and Legolas loved it with all his heart. He would sometimes go out in parties to Rivendell or to the northern wastelands, to the village of Valle, to the Lonely Mountain, and some very, very rare times downwards to the south with a group of hunters like himself, to keep the dark creatures from multiplying too much and taking over their woods. 

_Their woods. _

Too bad he had to go out to _their woods_ with that poor excuse of a – a _being._

Gollum climbed a tree, again, and made his strange _gollums. Something that tried, yet failed, to pass as the sound of a wild bird was heard as if responding. The guards that accompanied him stood immediately alert. _

"Feriel! On guard." Legolas whispered, and they soon heard the sound of thousands of foul creatures coming towards them. Four guards against thousands – it was indeed one of the worst situations he'd ever been. 

They shot and shot until their quivers were empty. Even in the pale light of the moon their sight didn't fail their aim. But as the foul creatures –orcs – quickly approached and with empty quivers, they were forced to take their daggers and swords. But not even their speed and dexterity would hold them for much longer, and Legolas looked up to the trees after slicing the chest of an orc, just to see a dark-gray figure running away. 

Of course he would run away. 

And of course the orcs had come to give him the opportunity to. 

"Cirion! Legolas! Gilhan! We must go back!" cried Feriel, his fathers' first marshal. The elf was right, of course. They couldn't face that many orcs alone. Not with blades. 

His father would _not_ be content with the news.

~*~

Far, far away from Mirkwood, Sauron ordered his troops to attack Osgiliath.

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_@ Minas Tirith, Gondor, July 4th of 3018 of the Third Age._

"May your path be smooth, my brother." Said Faramir, holding Boromir, at the gate of the first Circle of the city of the King. Not that the king lived there- Gondor hadn't had a king for many, many years. Since the beginning of the Third Age, to be precise. But the stewards had managed the city and the kingdom, and they waited for the king to return. 

"And you, my brother, be at peace. I will stop at nothing to get the explanation for this omen. Help father in all you can in this time of struggle, and worry not – I shall return." Said Boromir, his face buried in his brother's hair. 

They had always been so close – the two sons of the steward, their mother gone so early, and even in the innocence of youth, children saw them for their title, not their hearts. It had changed a little when they had grown enough to become worthy warriors, and were respected by their courage and character, having true and faithful friends among their soldiers. But the true deep bond formed in those young years of isolation was never weakened. 

They loved each other.

Even more when they both knew that Denethor didn't love Faramir as he loved his older son. That was odd, because Faramir was much more alike Denethor in character – wise beyond his years, fond of meditation and able to look into a person's soul. Boromir was every inch a warrior – and secretly trembled before the prospect of becoming the leader of a nation who loses faith day after day, as the darkness crept closer. He was brave, selfless, and loyal –but also a bit stubborn. Denethor seemed to love those characteristics so unlike his own. And he didn't love his younger offspring with the same ardor. 

The brothers knew that, even when they never spoke of it. And Boromir took upon himself to cover any hole Denethor had left in Faramir's heart – love, guidance, anything. 

But the charade, or prophecy, or enigma, or whatever else, was taking away the little serenity they had. It was a light in those days of darkness, a sign that something, somewhere, was happening and Minas Tirith could still be saved. 

So Boromir would travel. He would find the house of Lord Elrond half-elven and seek his counsel, in the hope it might be helpful to his people. 

And with a final hug on his brother, he took his horse and rode away – he would find the house of Elrond.

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_@ Orthanc, Isengard. July 10th of 3018 of the Third Age._

Gandalf was terrified. 

For the very first time in many, many years, he was trapped in a situation he didn't know how to deal with. They had been betrayed! Betrayed! By Saruman! 

His commandant, his head of house, his source of counsel whenever he couldn't solve a problem, whenever it was too much for him. Saruman, his old mentor. A traitor. 

Gandalf had come to him for advice. Frodo had the One ring, and they desperately needed all the help they could get to destroy it. But Saruman's allegiance was no longer with the Order in Valinor. He had sold his soul to the deceiver of Barad-dûr. After all, a traitor deserves another traitor – hadn't Sauron done the same to his own kind? 

He wished so badly he could just disclose it and take the weight off his shoulders. But it was too late now – that kind of information, if released, would break havoc in all the continent. People would suicide. Elves would grieve to death. One nation would turn against the other. Panic everywhere –and what for? Could he be so selfish as to burden them with such a knowledge only for his own peace of mind? 

The Order had no way of knowing just how bad things had turned in Middle-earth, they lived in blissful ignorance of everything outside his island. The five of them had decided to go back because they knew no force in Middle-earth could compete with a wizard. There was no army against magic. 

Radagast had lost his illusions and turned his mind to experiments and magical animals. Orodrin had perished in the mines of Moria many years ago. Akhmed was wandering on the lands far, far south. Saruman was a traitor, and he was trapped. 

If Radagast was still true – and he had had, so far, no reason to doubt that – the Eagles would know of that soon and he would be able to attempt an escape. 

Gandalf hoped fervently Frodo didn't wait for him too much, that he would go off to the house of Elrond on his own, and that no evil would befall him. It wasn't fair, that such a lovely, joyful creature should suffer for the mistakes of others.

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_@ Proucing Pony, Bree. September 30th of 3018 of the Third Age._

If the song –or riddle –was true, then that man before them was someone Gandalf knew. 

If it was indeed true, it was someone Gandalf _trusted. And that would be good enough for Frodo, as long as he was sure of it. _

There was so many things chasing them. And those ... those Nazgûl ... they definitely were nothing good. They were the very things nightmares were made of. 

But that Ranger, Strider, _was indeed _ someone Gandalf trusted. The letter that the bartender delivered him matched everything Strider said. '_Those words follow my name.' So the four little hobbits would follow Strider. And it was obvious they needed to make the Nazgûl loose their tracks –they had to go to the wild. So be it. _

Gandalf was late, and something ought to have happened to delay the wizard; but if Gandalf recommended Strider, he was good enough for Frodo.

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_@ Arilin, province of Arilin, Aryan School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, December 1st of 15528 A.R. or 3018 of the Third Age._

"Backpacks, winter robes, personal stuff."

"Check." 

"Invisibility cloak." 

"Check."

"First-aid mediwizard case." 

"Check."

"Hmmm … wands?" 

"_Oh, for pity sake, Arien_."

"Okay. Belt with potions?"

"Do you really think we have to take those vials with us?"

"One can't be too careful. Brooms."

"I thought we had agreed on '_nothing too obvious_.'"

"We may need to make a hasty departure, and I don't want to take any chances against the horses of Rohan. We just reduce the size of the brooms and take them with us on our pockets."

"Good god. Okay, I'll ask Laetitia to fetch the brooms for us."

"Correction, _you'll_ fetch the brooms, as soon as we finish this. Polyjuice?"

"Loads, check."

"Right. Hmmm … weapons?"

"We finally got to the non-magical list. Check."

"Food? And don't forget the coffee."

"Food check, and coffee too. We also have some wine and water."

"Good. I think that's it. No, wait! Floo powder." 

"You are not honestly expecting to find a fireplace connected to the Floo network, are you?"

"No, but it might do us some good to be able to call people. Transfigure the horses and we'll cover most of the distance riding our broomsticks at night. When daylight comes, we'll ride the horses. _What?"_

"You're going to fly at night with a transfigurated horse on your pocket???"

"That way we can cover more ground. What's the matter?"

"You just have no heart. And people complain about Slytherin…"

"People don't complain about Slytherin. Slytherins are nice, mind you. The whole problem was that Salazar was a jerk. A real son of a bitch."

** sigh**

"Where do we start?"

"I think the logical thing would be to investigate the ruins of Dol Guldur. But we can't get too close to Lothlórien, _she'd feel our presence." _

"Let's go then."

Damon hurried to the Quidditch pitch to get their brooms, and met her in the front doors. A few students and teachers were gathered to bid them fair well – this was the first time a wizard had been called to defend their country, and they were all a bit expectant.

"Elorie, take care of yourself, will you? And don't worry too much, this castle works almost on its own." Said Arien hugging her former pupil. She couldn't help but notice that Elorie had tears in her eyes.

"And don't forget to get the Aurors ready for any eventuality. We may need some back up." Said Damon.

"All right, I'll keep them alert. And don't worry, the castle will still be standing when you come back." The deputy headmistress said. After some more speech and hugging, the two wizards flew to the east as the last ray of sunlight died in the sky.

And twenty-four days after their departure, the Fellowship of the Ring left Rivendell to destroy the ring in the fires of Mount Doom.

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A.N.: Wow. That was hard. I decided to follow the book as long as I could – but had to make a little jump there. Or else I would never end this stuff. And you'd probably be bored to death.

_Terranan_ is an expression from the Darkover series I'm borrowing here. It refers to Terra, or Earth, and means 'from earth'. When I say Aimé wasn't used with terranan expressions, it means she wasn't used with manners of speech from earth. (quite obvious, Arien was the one on earth, not Aimé.)


	4. Chapter three: Dol Guldur

A.N.: '_when you find italics between apostrophes , it's a though' **' if it's preceded by two asterisks, it's  a telepathic conversation.'_

At the foot! 

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Chapter Three: Dol Guldur 

"The road goes ever on and on

down from the door where it begun.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with weary feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet.

And wither then? I cannot say." –Frodo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring.

 @ Dol Guldur, Forest of Mirkwood, December 20th of 3018.

"This place is cursed." Hissed Damon, wandering through the fortress of Dol Guldur.

The stronghold was hidden in the very core of Mirkwood, protected by the spiteful spiders. It had every evidence of being abandoned for long, but the evil still lingered the massive stonewalls with a foul feeling that invaded their delicate senses and made them feel physically ill.

"Tell me again why I hate fortifications made of stone?" 

"Because you feel trapped. Right now, hiril Arien, _I am feeling trapped. This place is evil." Damon replied unflappably. Their telepathic link made them feel twice as sick. The stone hall had lead them to several rooms, the later always looking – and feeling –worse than the previous._

"Do you hear that, my friend?" asked Arien.

"I hear naught." 

"Exactly. This place is desert. No living soul in miles. At least, no human-like soul in miles. We have some nice little spiders not far from here."

"Adorable creatures. I wonder if they would invite us for tea." Damon stated with as much irony as he could manage under the given circumstances.

'_We would probably be the tea.'_

_' O Lovely.'_

"What have our rangers said? That the ringwraiths had been seen in the open?" Damon inquired after another lengthy silence.

Arien was looking at some torture utensils hooked at the walls with disgust. There were clear marks of dry blood around, and some bones spread on the floor. The smell was nearly unbearable. And they'd been there for almost five days.

The trip had taken a fortnight –they had stopped at some small villages to make discreet inquiries. So far the suspicion was the same any stranger would receive in the imminence of war. But the peasants had stated that Black Riders had been seen some months before, wandering around and asking where was the shire. _But what, for the love of God, was the **Shire?** _

"It seems the Nazgûl are something like a dementor." Arien stated.

"Oh joy."

"Isn't it? But Sauron had expressly demanded his minions to take care of the fortress not fifty years ago." Arien muttered, keeping her voice barely audible even for elven hearing.

"So fifty years ago this place was a strategical fortification -" 

"The perfect place to attack the both Mirkwood and Lothlórien. And Rivendell is not too far away. After the other realms were taken, it wouldn't be able to resist a full attack. Hell, Lothlórien wouldn't be able to. And suddenly the guy just gives up and retreats? It makes no sense!"

Damon would have answered, if he was not once again lost in his thoughts.

Five days of investigation had taken them nowhere, except for the fact that Sauron had recently just given up the perfect fortress.

If terms of wizarding chess, he had sacrificed his _queen. But why?_

"We have to find out what the Shire is. And what, exactly, the Wraiths were so eager to get there." Said Damon, at last.

"Sounds like a plan." Agreed Arien. " and if you don't mind, could we get the hell out of here? This place is creepy."

"I think you could rephrase that, but I agree with you." He said, already removing his reduced broom out of his pocket. With a quick _engorgio they both were holding racing brooms. "Where to, miss?"_

"Hmm… I haven't seen anything close to unusual this side of the Misty Mountains. I guess we just have to follow the path the peasants said the wraiths went."

"That would leave us behind them all times."

"But we're faster. And we're wizards. If in doubt, hex the shit out of them. Or transfigure them into something like … like salt. And them we leave them in a river." She stated, very self-confidently.

"Bad girl."

"I do try."

"West them?" he said, the slightest edge in his voice.

"West."

_'We'll be all right, Damon. I'll hex whatever tries to harm us, even if it means to blow the cover.'_

_'That's not exactly assuring. I guess it's just that I'm so used to being afraid of them that, now that I don't need to, it is strange. Guess I need some time to adjust.' _

_'Kind of weird to go west after running to east since the beginning of our society.' _

_'Yes.' _

_'Come on, now. We have work to do.' _

_'I don't believe we're actually doing this.' _

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@ Bree, December 30th of 3018.

"We'd like to get a room for the night." Said Damon, taking the initiative for himself. They had agreed long before the departure that things would be easier if they traveled together as relatives, and Damon did the talking. Middle-Earth was just not ready to the notion of independent females, and as much as Arien would like to shake some sense into them, they were in a hurry and had no time to waste in revolutions such as that.

'_We're kind of busy trying to save the world, here.'_ She mused, chuckling softly.

_'Behave.' Came the stern mental command._

'_Fuck off. I'm behaving perfectly well.'_

_'Language.'_

_'This is my mind and I think however the fuck I want. If you don't like it, get out.' She answered back, and saw the corners of his lips itching upwards ever so slightly. _'Slytherins. Why o why do bad boys have to be so utterly adorable?'__

_'Magnetism.'_

_'Now you're behaving just like Ron Weasley.'_

Butterbur, the manager, looked at them in awe. One could tell they hadn't seen elves in a long, long time – and _mortal men cannot distinguish the difference._ The other people in the Inn – unusually little for the time of day (or more precisely, night).

Mortal men like to hang around in groups. They enjoy drinking alcoholic drink and talking of nothing of importance with friends at the end of a hard day's work. But the inn hardly had five customers.

_'Weird.' Arien said again to Damon's mind._

_'How so?'_

_'The pub is deserted.'_

_'And?'_

_'Mortal are always in the pub. It's their favorite pastime.'_

_'With so other things to do…'_

_'Prejudice, get off this body that does not belong to you!'_

_'Fuck off!'_

_'Language…'_

" 'Tis was a long time since one of the fair people has last been seen. And here! At the Prancing Pony! Requesting rooms?" the manager blurted in absolute disbelief.

'Tell him we got lost at our party, that there's too many foul things out there and you didn't want to –'

"This is indeed very unusual for us, my kind sir." Damon immediately began saying, without even flinching. It was really good to have a slytherin with you in times like that. "However, we were attacked on the road and got lost from our party. I am not alone, as you see, and couldn't risk the safety of my dear sister –"

_'Don't elaborate too much. That's the first sign of a liar, they give too much away because they don't believe themselves.' Snapped Arien to him, as her face gave nothing of the dialogue they were having to the stupefied mortal. Many other men started gathering at the inn, brought by the rumors of strange folk – the fair folk!- staying at the establishment._

"I'm afraid it has been a bit too much for her. We'd like to have some rest and a meal before we resume our traveling." Damon finished his speech. Gods, he was that damn good. Arien herself almost believed him.

And it was not as if they didn't look alike, Damon's coloring was a bit colder and smother, as his hair was burgundy and his eyes pale blue, but the basic was there.

Pointy ears, reddish hair and blue eyes. No reason to suspect they were not siblings. And it was not as if they could say from looking that Arien was a good nine and a half thousand years younger. Little details.

_'A bit too much for me?'_

_'Shut up.'_

"Oh, of course, your sister. We have a nice room over here at the first floor, or it could be on the grounds if you don't mind…" the man went speaking off as if he had lots of important things to say and wouldn't live any longer than two minutes. 

"Could you get someone to take care of our horses?" spoke Arien at last. Butterbur rapidly commanded one of his younger assistants – a Nob or Bob or something like that – to lead the horses to the stables.

The room was clean, had two very comfortable beds, two wooden chairs and a fireplace, along with a small table where they found a couple of towels and some water for refreshment. The manager left them to themselves with the promise of dinner being brought up in half an hour.

Within fifteen minutes, the whole bar was filled with curious people who were trying to catch a glimpse of the 'elves'.

"At last." Whispered Damon in Antarian, as he fell noiselessly on the bed near the door. The other, next to the window, was Arien's.

"Get a nap. I'll wake you up when dinner is here." She said, sitting in a very old, very uncomfortable chair by the table.

When Nob (or was it Bob?) knocked on their door, forty minutes later, Damon woke up to find his friend already refreshened and changed. "I missed the fun!" he said in the language of Antar, and Arien stuck out her tongue at him.

"You may come in!" he said, still laughing.

The young man went inside with the tray, staring at them the whole time - he nearly dripped the contents of the trail on the table.

"Thank you." Said Arien, and gave him a silver coin.

"You should have let him kiss the hem of your dress, arwenamin." Damon teased, after the man had closed the door behind them. "Or better else, your feet!"

"You're hopeless."

"I'm a slytherin."

"Don't blame the house for your very own faults." She shot back, but with affection. Their constant bickering was a welcome stress-reliever and a funny way to pass their time. "You should go down there." 

Damon arched one dark eyebrow at her.

"It would make the day of our host. And you could get some valuable information."

"How would I know how to behave among mortals?"

"Elves are not supposed to have much contact with mortals anyway. And I'll be guiding you from up here. Just don't take too long, you know I get tired easily."

"I could get a Comyn with some practice." He taunted her again.

"None would know the way, my dear. Or the patterns of behavior. So shut up and oblige."

"You're really bad, baby."

"And you love it."

"What happened to that girl you claim you had been? The one that couldn't bring herself to give a direct order to anyone without feeling awkward?"

"She had to deal with the Antarian bureaucracy for forty years to have the castle _built_. Then she had another bunch of bureaucrats on her backs waiting for her to make a mistake and at last, but not least, she had two queens on her neck. That must have given her some backbone."

"I better go then."

"Brilliant, Sherlock."

"_What_?"

~*~

Several hours later, a very flushed Damon enters the room at the first floor to find a very tired Arien. "They were here. Three months ago."

"But three months? They could have killed half the continent with that much time."

"They were here after someone called Underhill. But the men down there told me he was also called Baggins, or so said a hobbit that claimed to be his cousin."

"A hobbit? What is a _hobbit_?" 

"Something shorter than a dwarf. Barlinman butterbur says they were quite abundant this place some time ago, but now they live mostly –guess where?"

"No idea."

"On _The Shire_!"

"So we finally found it! Where is it?" Arien whispered, taking a journal and a Dict-O-Quill out of her backpack. Damon started whispering, in Antarian, all the men at the pub said about the mysterious quartet of hobbits that came to the Prancing Pony a few hours before the Nazgûl broke in the city.

"Okay, so here we have it," she said, when Damon shut his mouth. "these four hobbits came in here, in the middle of the night, from the shire. Hobbits don't travel this far these days, and their coming was highly unusual. During the night, they associated with a _ranger, _ whatever that is, had their rooms attacked by the wraiths–but they were not there; they had their horses stolen and left at dawn. What could we say from that?"

"They probably knew they were being chased. And one of them was positively hiding his identity." Damon ventured.

"AND the wraiths were after them. So they were something so important, Sauron had his most feared lieutenants after them. _Even if they had to leave his perfect fortress."_

"But these hobbits, they are nothing that special. I didn't had to feign a curiosity over the race, but all they told me is that hobbits are peasants by nature, they are smaller than dwarves, love to eat and have hairy feet." Damon protested.

"'Tis getting more and more curious. Where did they go from here?"

"The ranger took them into the wild." Damon said, and both groaned. A trail that old would be impossible to track down.

"And that ranger, what do we know about him?"

"He's known as Strider, but nobody knows his real name. He's part of a group that goes up and down patrolling the roads."

"They told you all of that?"

"Nay, some of it I had to read." He sighed. Mind reading is a tiring exercise, no matter how much experience you have; and even more when you're doing it to several people simultaneously. "Let's get some rest. We have till dawn before we have to think of anything."

And they slept, exhausted.

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@ Hollin , South Path, January 8th of 3018.

** _Gandalf stood at Frodo's side and looked out under his hand. 'We have done well,' he said. 'We have reached the borders of the country that Men call Hollin; many elves lived here in happier days, when Eregion was its name. Five-and-forty leagues as the crown flies we have come, though many long miles further our feet have walked. The land and the weather will be milder now, but perhaps all the more dangerous.'_

_'Dangerous or not, a real sunrise is mighty welcome,' said Frodo, throwing back his hook and letting the morning light fall on his face._

_'But the mountains are ahead of us,' said Pippin. 'We must have turned eastwards in the night.'_

_'No,' said Gandalf. 'But you see further ahead in the clear light. Beyond those peaks the range bends south-west. There are many maps in Elrond's house, but I suppose you never thought to look at them?'_

_'Yes, I did, sometimes,' said Pippin, 'but I don't remember them. Frodo has a better head for that sort of thing.'_

_'I need no map,' said Gimli, whi had come up with Legolas, and was gazing out before him with a strange light in his deep eyes. 'There is the land where our fathers worked of old, and we have wrought the image of those mountains into many works of metal and of stone, and into many songs and tales. They stand tall in our dreams : Baraz, Zirak, Shatyr.' (…) _**

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@ Weathertop, January 10th of 3019

"For a trail this old, it wasn't really hard to find." Gloated Damon.

"You're getting _so_ very full of yourself." Retorted his partner in crime.

"But it was! I guess it was because this road was abandoned. See : here you have the imprints of the horses."

"But the hobbits lost their ponies at Bree. So this must be ..."

"Either a group of travelers that have nothing to do with this, or the wraiths. Most likely the last, as they were in Bree that day and probably went after their prey." Finished the slytherin.

They were standing upon a hill, in the middle of nowhere, miles and miles of deserted land before them. Surely, it seemed no one had set foot on those lands for decades. The horses were securely transfigured on their pockets – the trail was too old and light to be risked with them walking over it.

"There was a watchtower around here somewhere." Arien said.

"Well, there had been nothing here for quite some time, I'd say. If I didn't know you were here three thousand years ago, I'd say you were hallucinating!"

"I haven't come here, my mother told me about the Tower of Amon Sûr."

"You mean ... that ruin over there?" Damon pointed at what could or could not have been a building some millennia ago.

"There's only one way to find out." She said, running up to the ruins.

There. The ruins of Amon Sûr had plenty of trail to read. Footsteps imprinted on the dusky ground, leftovers of a unfinished meal – rotten - , a campfire, and even some inscriptions on the ground.

"Damon! Over here!" the she-elf cried.

Together they ruminated about the signs before them. An elfish letter, a cirth, the equivalent of the Westron for G, followed by 3 risks. Not far from there they found marks of someone crawling on the ground, and dried blood.

"This is not pretty." Whispered Damon.

"Do you think he died?" her voice was barely a whisper, as if the wraiths were still around, ready to jump on them.

"He might have. Seems like a rather naughty wound for me. See the blood?" he ran his fingers one inch above the marks. "these footsteps are chaotic. But it may be a fair guess to say they took the wounded guy - a hobbit, as we can still see the footsteps of the mortal here."

"They are all mortals, Damon. And for all that we know, we may be as well."

"I used to believe that. But I lost that faith a long ago. When my parents stood healthy and ever-young many thousand years after what it was considered the age we'd die. Do you think it may have been a revenge from the elves? To torture us like that?"

"Mom would _never_ do anything like that with us. She was really scared because of that."

"She may not have known. She may have believed it."

"She did believe it. Everybody did - she was Comyn, Damon. She'd know if it was just a plot."

"She was a _Comyn_! Tell me more about it."

"_Damon_! - tracks, blood, wraiths, hello?" she sang, annoyed. Damon understood and walked along the tracks, going to the far end of the platform, where he looked ahead to the meadow.

"Do you know what's the only place where they could have seek refuge?"

"Let me check my map." She said, grabbing her bag. Damon did not wait.

"Rivendell."

"Fuck!"

"Exactly. We can't go there."

"What if…" Arien wondered, her voice with a far-away quality that indicated she was thinking.

"What if what?" urged Damon.

"Storms."

"What does that mean?"

"That means we are going to Rivendell." She said, with an air of defiance that used to get the ruling board of Antar on their guards. Damon knew it couldn't be anything good.

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_@ Rhudaur valleys, borders of Rivendell, January 20th___

Rain poured from the sky as if an invisible deity was throwing whole bucks full of icy water down on earth. Now and then thunders roared and lightning bolts illuminated the dark-gray firmament. Every wild creature was safely hidden in their lairs.

"Handy trick, that one. How come you never taught us?" said Damon, wet to his bones. The ice-cold wind didn't help much to their comfort, but they went ahead on the road nevertheless. On horses –they didn't want to risk an elf looking at them on brooms, no matter how unlikely the possibility was.

"I didn't learn this one at Hogwarts, it's something I just do from time to time, when I'm very, very sad."

"Creepy. But we are most likely destroying the tracks."

"I know. But that's the best I could come up with." She retorted, angrily.

Searching a trail in an elven realm wasn't easy – and it was even harder when there was a storm pouring down, and the trail was supposed to be many months old. The renegades were aware they could not linger – the elven lord would definitely be suspicious by now, if he was not absolutely sure. There would be search parties soon.

"Come here, leroni!" cried Damon, and Arien urged her horse near the renegade.

A pin. A pin from a horse shoe. they have left that way.

"Where does this road go?" she asked.

"This is no road. There's nothing on these lands, but the Misty mountains on the east."

"Back to where we started. Just great." 

"Let's follow the path. You'll need to stop this storm, if we have any chance of seeing anything." He argumented.

"Okay then." She said, and immediately the storm began to fade, slowly. "but we have to hurry. In a couple of hours, this plateau will be filled with elves."

"So our little hobbits spent some time at the house of Elrond. Interesting." Damon whispered, talking mostly to himself.

"What do you think it means, Damon?"

He raised his head and smiled –a real lady-killer smile, complete with charming glitter in the pale blue eyes that made him ten times more dangerous. "Either our hobbits were equally as important to Sauron as they are to the elves, or at least to Elrond; or our ranger is very well-known at this realm and welcome to the point of bringing wounded strangers in, or both. Possibly both."

It was her turn to smile. "I see. That's why Sauron sacrificed his queen – and other people know of the importance of these hobbits as well. We have the rangers, and now the elves of the house of Elrond. Things just get more and more interesting by the minute."

"You know, I'm starting to regret our isolation. Seems like Middle-earth is a hell of a fun nowadays."

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A.N.: I used phrases from Titanic and MIB II (what a culture … Lol!) 

** this was a direct quotation of the books. I believe the name of the chapter was 'the ring goes south.', of _The fellowship of the ring. And also the chapters where they are at Lothlórien. _

I may have overestimated their intelligence, but however , Arien worked at the intelligence department in the war against Voldemort, so I guess she's good with investigation and stuff. And Damon is a nine and a half thousand years slytherin. (does it sounds reasonable to anyone else but me?)

**Leroni** is a Darkover term for 'witch'. In the series it doesn't literally mean witch as in witchcraft, but as in rocket scientist- someone so brilliant she (it's a female term) can do anything through her psychic powers. Here it is used as in someone who haas great knowledge.


	5. Chapter four: Fire and Shadow

A.N.: impossible as it might sound, I AM following the book and trying to make this one believable. =P  
  
_'when you find italics between apostrophes, it's  a thought ._'

_**'when the phrase is between apostrophes and preceded by two asterisks, it's a telepathic conversation '_  But if you find only apostrophes, that was probably FF.net that did not show the italics. Happens sometimes. Drives me crazy.  
  
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**Chapter Four: Fire and shadow**  
  


  
_'Gandalf the Grey set out with the Company, but he did not pass the borders of this land. But I cannot see him from afar, unless he comes within the fences of Lothlórien, a grey mist is about him, and the ways of his feet and his mind are hidden from me_.' Galadriel, The Fellowship of The Ring, The Mirror of Galadriel.  
  
  


_@ Eastern Gate of Moria, January 23rd of 3019._  
  
"Holy shit!" Arien cursed for the umpteenth time. The renegades had followed the tracks from Rivendell to Caradhras, then back to the road and finally to the gates of Moria.  
  
The trail hadn't been anything light. The Mountain wasn't particularly friendly with them, but they had had time to see that the tracks had turned back and gone to the road of the dwarfish realm.  
  
And the footsteps. Ah, the footsteps. They found the trail of a pony, a dwarf, what they used to call _'their hobbits'_ and three men -big, heavy feet. ((A.N.: they weren't able to see the footsteps of Legolas, because they are extremely light and the trail was old.)) So, more and more of the people of Middle-earth were getting interested in the fate of Mr. Underhill, or Baggins, and his three companions. At some point they met carcasses of hyper-grown wolves and some goblins.  
  
Not very encouraging.  
  
"This was made with magic." Arien had said when she examined the wolves. "An incendiary charm - this is quite old. I've only seen this in congresses and rituals. There are loads of other charms for the same end, all much more effective."  
  
"What does it mean, mistress?" Damon had asked -after all, no matter how old she was, she was still the magic expert. Even when he was one hell of a wizard himself.  
  
"That means my theories might be true. And that also means they have a wizard with them."  
  
"Impossible! We are the first to go outside of Antar after the rangers. And they all went back home."  
  
"Nevertheless the evidence is here, before us: this was a charm. He might have been an Istar, there are stories about them."  
  
"They're wizards like us?"  
  
"Not exactly like us, but from what I see, not very different either. Be on your guard, if we happen to meet him."  
  
"Oh joy."  
  
~*~  
  
Now they were in front of what once had been a gate, but now was no more than a pile of stones. Someone, or rather something, had imploded the entrance. Tentacles cut off lying near the entrance didn't exactly help on improving their moods either.  
  
They sat on a nearby stone and rested a little, holding their wands in hand, and considering what their next step might be. "What do we do now?" asked Arien. Damon concentrated on scanning the immediate area searching for forms of life -or more specifically, evil forms of life. He didn't take five minutes doing so, and his fair face was pale when he finished the scanning.  
  
"We call the Auror squad. We cannot go in there alone. Actually, I would take any other route, if there was one." He said, in a tone that admitted no questioning. It wasn't exactly frequent for him to be so imposing, and as they were in tune, she felt he had seen something extremely disgusting.  
  
"I guess I shouldn't be offended about this." She said, putting her wand to action. _"Incendium_!" and a merry fire burst to life, becoming green after Arien threw some Floo Powder on it.  
  
"Elorie." The witch commanded to the flames, and the fire of the deputy headmistress connected with their campfire. Elorie's face appeared in the green flames.  
  
"Anything amiss, my friend?" questioned the gryffindor.  
  
"Orcs. Trolls. And a demon. I need my Auror squad." The Slytherin explained, but a giant, something with loads of tentacles and a very toothy mouth, advancing towards them, interrupted his words. Arien and Damon both reacted the same way: pulling their wands out and casting one single curse.  
  
_"Avada Kedavra!"_  
  
The monster froze, lifeless, on the sand. When they returned their gazes to the green flames, Elorie had eyes the size of saucers.  
  
"That was _amazing."_  
  
"Wasn't it?" Arien grinned. "But only the two of us against the amount of orcs in there is suicide. We need reinforcements."  
  
"How many?" asked Elorie, recovering from her shock.  
  
"About one hundred, one hundred and fifty . Can you manage it?"  
  
The gryffindor thought about it for a while. "I guess that one hundred is possible, but not much more than that. Most of our Aurors are guarding our borders."  
  
"But I said to keep them alert!" cried Arien.  
  
"Then send them here immediately." Said Damon, at the same time.  
  
Half an hour later, they had one hundred and twelve Aurors to back them up.  
  
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_@ Moria, January 25th of 3019._  
  
The trip couldn't have been more exhaustive if they tried. Some of the wizards had transfigured the stones at the entrance into dust. They moved silently through the halls, but got lost more often than not - try to find your way inside a city of dwarves without having neither a tour guide nor a map, and then you can tell what they went through**.**

  
Damon stood by Arien's side all times, to control her panic attacks - the girl was claustrophobic. And even those who were not complained about the overwhelming stone walls.  
  
Within the first five hours they decided on giving her massive doses of soothing serum. She was numb, but at least she wasn't fainting and crying all the time.  
  
A shock troop of Aurors flewahead, checking for groups of orcs and other foul things. Every now and then they would cast 'Lumos soleil' or 'Incendium' to toast the goblins. They were truly useful charms. The only time they had to retort to more drastic measures was when a pair of cave trolls appeared along with the goblins, but the Killing curse took care of them.  
  
Moria was a nightmare.  
  
The evidence of magic being used in those halls was drawing them, however. Deep inside the halls. And it was not a renegade. There was powerful magic, ancient magic, being cast in the depths. There was but a little problem .  
  
The source of the magic was somewhere one hundred miles below them.  
  
"We must go down." Said Arien, but her voice held not much strength. The soothing serum had made her sleepy and slow, and by all means, no Auror there would let their mistress face anything remotely dangerous, no matter what she might have to say about it.  
  
"Milady, it's too dangerous." Said the captain of the Auror squad, Deriel.  
  
"He's a wizard. And he traveled with the hobbit. He must hold the answers we seek."  
  
With no other words, the half of the group of Aurors jumped inside the abysm in their flying brooms -it was something like the feign of Wrosnki, but that wasn't a game.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Damie." She whispered to her traveling companion and former pupil. The slytherin held her tighter against himself- he was taking her, as Arien herself was in no condition of riding her own broom.  
  
"Shh. It's alright. They'll be back in no time."  
  
"I've failed you." She said even more quietly.  
  
"No you haven't. Now shut up and get some rest."  
  
And true to Damon's word, the group came back within one hour -carrying a very badly bruised old man with them. Damon started interrogating the man -or trying to-, but Arien saw none of it.  
  
A disturbing feeling invaded her with the strength of a bludgers' blow. The room got cold, so very cold - 'I shouldn't be cold.'  
  
  


.::(*)::. (The Renegades :The Awakening , chapter 19: Amin Eldar)  
  


_She didn't want to go to the hospital - the mortals would see it. They would see she wasn't human and they would lock her in a magical lab where she couldn't run from, they'd put needles in her and do tests with her as they did with those animals in the jails . and she wouldn't be able to leave. To live. Forever trapped in magical walls .  
  
She tried to tell Sirius to leave her be, that Poppy was way better, and please, please, please, PLEASE don't take me to St. Mungo's. But her voice wouldn't obey her mental commands. All she could hear - and it suddenly hurt so much to hear anything, even Sirius' erratic heartbeats matching her own for a while, before hers got wild -was her muffled pained cries, the echo of a wounded wolf she had freed with her brother Andrea from a steel trap. So long ago.  
  
She couldn't speak, she was trapped inside her mind. But it hurt so badly - the light, the noise, and the needles on her arms, potions forced down her throat. It hurt, and she felt cold - like death was already claiming her with its icy grip. The voices of people around her were no longer heard. Blissful, blissful unconsciousness and quiet.  
  
Quiet and dark.  
  
'Just leave me alone and let me die in peace .' _.::(*)::.  
  


  
It was more than she could handle. She was so very sleepy .  
  
  


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_  
@ Fangorn Forest, February 2nd of 3019._  
  
When she opened her eyes, they were alone again. Damon had made their tent, and also a fire - magical fire, not fueled by branches. And they were surrounded by pairs of eyes, something that was familiar, and something she had seen before.  
  
"Fangorn!" she cried, startling Damon. The slytherin moved towards her bringing with him a plate of meat, wild fruits and macaroni. Macaroni was a blessing for camping – you cantake anywhere, it doesn't rot for a long, long time, and it's ready in less than half an hour.  
  
The old ent laughed softly when she cried. "Hello, my child. Long time no see, even for us ents."  
  
Arien tried to stand up, but her legs wouldn't obey her. Her whole body felt as if she had been spanked thoroughly.  
  
"Damon, when I said I liked bad boys, it was implicit I enjoyed to participate in the gaiety. Drugging me was low even for you."  
  
The slytherin laughed real hard. "If she's throwing nice comments like that, she's alright. No harm done."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Panic attacks, massive soothing serum, overuse of your Comyn gifts, all put together. In other words, you worn yourself out, and got sick."  
  
"Oh my!"  
  
Fangorn was standing proud and tall before them - they were camping before his home! - and looking every bit as he had when they last met -for him, it was almost three thousand years before, and to her, it had been two hundred and sixty. Plenty of time for them both.  
  
"I know we have met before, but I cannot remember you. You must have been very little when we met."  
  
"We met in the beginning of the Third age, three thousand years ago." She replied, nonchalantly. Damon stared at her, hard - he knew she had left Middle-earth long ago, but that long was really impressive.  
  
"Wow." He whispered.  
  
"Oh, I remember. A little redheaded renegade, in a wagon. long time no see, indeed." Fangorn smiled, speaking every word slowly. "How did you travel, my dear? I see you have found your kindred."  
  
"Oh, yes, Fangorn, and that was an adventure, let me tell you. But that reminds me. What happened to the wizard?"  
  
At that moment Damon looked extremely chastised, even uncomfortable. "We couldn't get much out of him."  
  
Fangorn eyed them suspiciously, but said nothing. Damon quietly whispered to her what happened after she feel unconscious, but what his lips said and what his mind told her were two entirely different things.  
  
After all, secrets are secrets and no renegade would ever betray the trust of another.  
  
_Never.  
_  
The forest was cool and soothing around them, filled with an eerie calmness and peace that was a better balsam to their wounded hearts than any serum. But even in that shelter there was the echo of a great sadness, loss, and anger. Those feelings ran deep, and muffled, but their strength was there nonetheless - and they would surface, destroying all in their way.  
  
And in that fragile peace, Damon's mind told her a story Fangorn could never hear -not from them. The identity and the extension of the powers of those wizards had to be kept from anyone else.  
  
_**''When Deriel and his squad got down there, they found a wizard fighting the fire demon. He was exhausted, and wouldn't have held much longer. they joined him on the fight, but the guy was so beat up he thought we were minions of evil, so he started fighting them as well. Deriel stupefied the Istar  and the squad forced the demon to back down, and they went on and on until they found a dead end in that cave.  
  
The Aurors built a wall and sealed it. After the creature was done with, they brought the old man up in Kenneth's broom, and when he arrived on the platform we were standing, things went wild. I tried to interrogate him, but he panicked. It must be very shocking for him to find himself surrounded by fully-fledged wizards -'_

_  
**'Did you ask him where he learned his magic? Where did the Istar come from? What about --'  
  
**'I hadn't time for it. By the time I had disarmed him, he got so utterly frightened and mad every Comyn in the room went sick -and that's the part you that fainted, I guess. Your barriers were very low then. Callista threw up in the rocks, I got so dizzy I nearly fell in the abysm and Jeanne bled from her nose. Deriel got him from that on, but his mind was so wounded he couldn't take anything out of him. So they healed him and a small group is still making camp at the top of the mountains - we must have killed two thirds of the population of that blasted place. As soon as the man is able to speak coherently, we'll try to interrogate him. The other Comyn were sent home to recover, and I brought you here so we can rest a little. Daryl said he would contact us when he has something to report.'_  
  
They talked about platitudes and ate, asking Fangorn how things had gone in his wood those last millennia. It was indeed much time to cover, and they talked and talked until sleep claimed them again.  
  
After all, they were still sore from the Istar panic attack.  
  
  


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_@ Caras Galadhon, the city of the galadhrin, Lothlórien, February 14th of 3019.  
_  
**  
  
When all the guests were seated before his chair the Lord looked at them again. "Here are eight," he said. 'Nine were to set out, so said the messengers. But maybe there was some change of counsel that we have not heard. Elrond is far away, and darkness gathers between us, and all this year the shadows have grown longer.'  
  
'Nay, there was no change of counsel,' said the Lady Galadriel, speaking for the first time. Her voice was musical, but deeper than a woman's wont. 'Gandalf the Grey set out with the Company, but he did not pass the borders of this land. But I cannot see him from afar, unless he comes within the fences of Lothlórien, a grey mist is about him, and the ways of his feet and his mind are hidden from me.'  
  
'Alas!' said Aragorn. 'Gandalf the Grey fell into shadow. He remained in Moria and did not escape.' At these words all the elves in the hall cried aloud in grief and amazement. 'These are evil tidings,' said Celeborn, 'The most evil that we have been spoken of in long years of grievous deeds.' He turned to Haldir. 'Why has nothing of this been told to me before?' he asked in the elven-tongue.  
  
'We have not spoken to Haldir of our deeds or our purposes,' said Legolas. 'At first we were weary and danger was too close behind and afterwards we almost forgot our grief for a time, as we walked in gladness on the fair paths of Lórien.'  
  
(.)  
  
'With water from the stream Galadriel filled the basin to the brim, and breathed on it, and when the water was still again she spoke. 'Here is the Mirror of Galadriel,' she said. '"I have brought you here so that you may look in it, if you will.  
  
(.)  
  
'What shall we look for, and what shall we see?' asked Frodo, filled with awe.  
  
'Many things I command the mirror to reveal, ' she answered, 'And to some I can show what they desire to see. But the mirror will also show things unbidden, and those are often stronger and more profitable than things we wish to behold. What will you see, if you leave the Mirror free to work, I cannot tell. For it shows things that were, things that are, things that yet may be. But which is it that he sees, even the wisest cannot always tell. Do you wish to look?'  
  
** (.)  
  
The hobbits had retreated to the elven city. Galadriel stood by the basin, thinking. She had passed her test.  
  
Galadriel had been offered the most powerful of things on Middle-earth, and refused. Certainly she had won back her right of returning to the Blessed lands. So very different of when they had come to Middle-earth, over six thousand years ago. They had defied the Valar, and left. Pride led them to slay. Pride had prevented her to go back to Valinor, even after the Valar had said they absolved her at the end of the First Age. But Galadriel didn't want to go back like that. She wanted to raise her head up high.  
  
They had been so naïve, in those days. All her family: all gone now. All in the halls of Mandos. Except the one she lost last.  
  
Aredhel. The other White Lady of Noldor, which she would never see again. Aredhel had renounced her immortality for the love of a mortal, and Galadriel wished her sister had found bliss in those brief final years. She had seen it all, in the solitude of her patio, with her faithful Mirror. Those last years. Her niece and nephew. The end of it.  
  
The girl had survived. A little fiery sprite, with hair like sunset at Elvenhome. But she had obviously not taken her mother's advice to heart. She had gotten too close to Lórien. A scout of guards took her away from Lothlórien. Safe.  
  
And suddenly, she disappeared. The Mirror showed naught of her for nearly three thousand years -the brief glance of a wide wall and the opening of a gate, and that was the last Galadriel saw of her niece. The little flame was gone. No one left now.  
  
And then, suddenly, she was back. Galadriel didn't believe it at first, maybe it was just her wistful mind playing a prank on her senses. But sure as the sun rising every day, the Mirror showed her again, grown up and fiery, a bit beaten by the adversity but standing proud and fierce, a flower in mid-bloom, the promise of a strong character. She was already a strong character, but still. There was something about her. She wasn't as developed as she should be being a three thousand old half-elf. She was so young!  
  
The Lady of the Golden Woods looked at the Mirror once more - and gasped. Not much surprises an elf ten thousand years old, but that was a wonder.  
  
A group of Half-Eleven stood before her niece in a forest Galadriel recognized faintly as the old forest of Fangorn. Those woods had touched three millennia ago. Then the image changed, and that group was standing before the body of Mithrandir, healing him. They talked in a language Galadriel couldn't recognize.  
  
  


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_@ the top of the Misty Mountains, February 15th of 3019.  
_  
Most of the Auror squad had already left, back to protecting the borders of the republic, but the captain had remained to help interrogating the stubborn old man. The wizard before them was clearly upset. He kept talking angrily in a foreign language, refusing to speak with them – in spite of the obvious fact that they had saved him, he still believed they were foes.

But they knew what Gandalf was talking about. They were Comyn.

"My head hurts." Arien complained. She hasn't recovered from Moria completely yet, and the effort of making sense of the Istar words was quickly draining her.

"Shh. Just a little more now." Damon soothed her.

"Enough!" cried Deriel, trying to shut the angry wizard before them. "We are not your enemies, we came here to help!"

That was said in Gandalf's tongue. The Istar froze on his spot, and stared at them with less fear, and much more wonder and doubt. That's when Damon – the official slytherin plotter in service – had a brilliant idea.

"We were sent to help you, friend. We got news that the situation had gone out of control, and came here to help."

Something in the eyes of  the wizard sparkled for a second. But then he saw the pointed ears of his 'friends'. 

_'No elves in the Order. That was decided when we settled in Valinor, right when we knew of Sauron's betrayal. We should have killed him then. So none of this would have happened. So Frodo wouldn't have…'_

"You are not From the order! You are minions of Sauron!"

"The guy lost his mind." Arien said.

"I'm not  sure he had one once." Damon spat, venomously. Even a nine-thousand year old half-elf loses his patience once every century, and that Gandalf guy was surely driving them nuts.

"What do we do now?" asked Deriel, still keeping watch over the istar. The old bruises and wounds had healed well, under their patient care, but the man was still confused.

"Time to retort to an old trick, I guess." Arien said, looking for something inside her backpack. "Ah, here it is."

She forced the liquid down the throat of the elderly one, and the other renegades understood her intentions when his gaze turned empty and glassy. With a switch of her wand the Dict-O-Quill started working on the notebooks, as they carefully interrogated the Istar.

And under _Veritaserum_, Gandalf said everything.

"I was born in the Blessed Lands, five thousand years before…"

_'Holy fucking shit! They found a way to produce the philosopher's stone!' _Arien thought, quickly shutting her mental barriers against her partners. If the information went out, it would be havoc. Damon gave her a 'what-the-hell-was-that' look, and she replied with a 'you-don't-wanna-know' one.

"We heard that the wizard known as Sauron was following the path of Morgoth… it wouldn't be good for the Order… it would break the equilibrium of the balance of power."

"Not to mention he could go after you and kick your arses…" Arien added.

"Yes, that too…" the drugged Gandalf admitted. "So the wizarding community decided to send some of us to fight him… but shouldn't call too much attention …"

At that point they nodded in acquiescence, forgetting the Istar was not aware of their behavior, nor minded it.

"There were five of us… me… Orodrin perished in Moria… Ahkmed went to east … but never returned… Radagast no loner wishes to interfere with the matters of this land… "

An evil grin of understanding appeared on Deriel's face. 

_No one goes east and returns to tell the tale._

"Radagast wanders north and south… but he doesn't really work too hard…" _ah, nothing like Veritaserum to loosen one's tongue…_

"And Saruman betrayed us!" there was visible hatred in his voice, as well as hurt and disappointment.

"Now Gandalf… tell us about these hobbits every people in Middle-Earth is trying to protect… and why did the Wraiths leave Dol Guldur…"

And Gandalf told them.

~*~

"Deriel, you go back to Antar and, for pity sake_, keep the goddamned army alert!"_ Arien all but cried the last sentence. Elorie was so deep in shit when they met again, if only the gryffindor knew… "And no offence baby, but I'll have to obliviate you. If one Comyn saw these things by accident, can you imagine the size of the trouble?"

The captain looked at her with doubt, but the image she had built thorough the years at Antar was strong enough. Everybody knew she wouldn't harm anyone if she could help it. And that she honored her words. And she had taught him.

She was the Headmistress_. You can always trust the headmistress_ became another unwritten rule of Antar.

"Okay."

"_Obliviate_." She said, and right after it. "Go back to Antar, keep the army ready and alert. We may need it for an open attack to Mordor sometime soon."

Deriel blinked hard, once, twice, three times. His mind was still foggy, it was so weird… Had he been….??

"Obliviated? Yes. Now go. Don't worry, sweetheart, everything will end up just fine." The headmistress said, with that same warm smile she had when the teachers brought him to her office because he had fought with a gryffindor. 

"Yes, milady." And Deriel apparated home. His officials wanted to know what happened, but all he could say was that it was confidential information.

"Your charm never ceases to amaze me." Damon whispered.

"What is it with me and slytherins?" she laughed. "Okay, now let's deal with that guy over there."

Gandalf was still staring to the empty space.

"What will we do?"

"We will be his new best friends!" Arien said, grinning. "Remember what I told you? Ensnare the senses and bewitch the mind?"

"And someone wonders why I bet you were a Slytherin?"

"Don't be pathetic. Not all Slytherins are this cunning. And not all the cunning folks are Slytherin. Now help me here."

And together, the antarian wizards began their work.

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A.N.: sorry about the delay – I had gone to a point where the future events were threatened by the present…

And I have some things on store… (evil laugh)


	6. Chapter five: Many Meetings

A.N: at the foot!

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**Chapter Five: Many Meetings**

"_So you're the kind that deals with the games in the mind   
Well you confuse me in a way that I've never known   
You confuse me in a way that I've never known   
So break me shake me hate me take me over   
When the madness stops then you will be alone_" Break me shake me, Savage Garden.

@ Fangorn Forest, 26th February of 3019.

They had had a tough time working on the mind of Gandalf the Grey - apart from his extraordinary will, the Istar was still very shaken. In ten days, however, they had managed to build a believable story that would grant them free access to all the lands he was friends with – and with them being renegades, it was a hell of an improvement.

Gandalf was responding very well to their ministrations… until one afternoon, he started screaming imprecations and enchantments to the air. It lasted a good fifteen minutes, and then he stopped – looking positively terrible.

Damon, of course, hurried next to him.

"Anything amiss, Gandalf?" Good, the Slytherin was just perfect. Arien could hear the perfect amount of concern in his voice, even as she sat writing on her journal five meters away. She was _always_ writing those things, for as far as he remembered. '_Helps me to see the connection between things.' She said once, and he replied '_Whatever floats your boat, Enn.' __

"The Dark Lord almost found Frodo today… he must have been in a very dangerous situation to use the Ring so close to Mordor." He explained, sitting on the foot of a not-so-old tree. "I had to fight his will to divert his attention."

"You should have called our aid, Gandalf. We would have helped." Arien offered sincerely. After he had said what was going on, even the renegades felt like going out of their way to help.

"You are far too young for some things, Arien…" the Istar replied. Arien sneered on his back – she hated being called so.

Not to mention, it _was_ odd to have someone you never met before acting as if you had been friends all your long lives. Even if you had cast the charm on him  yourself.

"If you say so …" she muttered, pushing out her tongue at Damon, who was chuckling quietly.

**'Damn you for making fun of me Damie' 

**'What are friends for?' 

_**'Fuck off. Go kiss an orc. '_

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@ Estemnete, Rohan. February 29 of 3019. (note at the foot!)

They had entered the lands of the mark. The altitude of the plateau was making it harder for them to breath while running. It was plain, at least, prairies as far as the (mortal) eyes can see, till it reached the forest of Fangorn.

Three days and three nights had passed and yet the walkers ran on. There was, after all, the tiniest hope that perhaps Merry and Pippin were alive, and for that they could not rest –that is, could not rest until the danger of missing the tracks imposed on them. And already Legolas complained about his heart warning him not to stop.

But alas, will does not solve anything, and neither Aragorn nor Gimli could sleep as they ran. 

Following the trail Aragorn saw a green blur, a blot – something that moved very, very fast in the distance. He went to the ground and tried to discern the sounds with his ear on the rocks. But Legolas stood beside him, shading his bright elven-eyes with his long slender hand. He saw the riders, but it was Aragorn who spoke first:

"Riders!" he yelled, standing up. "Many riders on swift steeds, coming toward us!"

"Yes. There are one-hundred and five. Yellow is their hair, and their leader is very tall."

Aragorn smiled. So Legolas was showing off with Gimli, huh? It was strangely heartening, a tiny bit of normality in a quickly fading world. But of course he wouldn't push their lucks telling that, Gimli could realise the joke on his own. So he merely stated, unable to wipe off the smile from his face, "Keen are the eyes of elves."

And then Legolas decided to have mercy, as they were all too tired to play subtlety, "No! The riders are little more than five leagues distant."

"Five leagues or one," groaned Gimli, trying to hide the fact that he was breathless from their running, " we cannot escape them on bare land."

Well, that was something of an understatement.

"We will wait," said Aragorn, with an eerie look in his eyes. "I am weary and our hunt has failed. Or at least the others were before us; for these horsemen are riding back down the orc-trail. We may get news from them"

"Or spears," said Gimli.

"There are three empty saddles, but I see no hobbit," stated Legolas.

"I did not say we should hear good news. But be it good or bad, we will wait for them here."

The company of riders had quickly crossed the field from the forest, and had already gone past them, when Aragorn called – "Riders of Rohan, what news from the north?"

Upon hearing his shout, the riders turned around in great dexterity, moving as one, and encircled the three companions. Spears were directed to their throats.

"Who are you, and what business bring you to the lands of the Riddermark? Speak quickly!" said the leader.

"I am called Strider. I came out of the North. I am hunting orcs." At that, the rider jumped off his horse, drawled his sword and stopped right before Aragorn. The Rohirrim reckoned him for quite some time, before he spoke:

"At first I thought you yourselves were orcs," he said, "But now I see that is not so. Indeed you know little of orcs if you go hunting them in this fashion. They were swift and well armed, and they were many. You would have changed from hunters to prey if you had ever overtaken them. But there is something about you, Strider. This is not a name given to men. And odd are your clothes also. How did you appear from the grass? And how did you escape our sights? Are you from the fair folk?"

"No. Only one of us is of elfish folk, Legolas from the woodland realm in distant Mirkwood. But we have passed through Lothlórien and the gifts and the blessings of the Lady of the Woods come with us."

If possible, the man looked even more suspicious after hearing that. "So there is a Lady in the Golden Woods as the tales tell! Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days!" He paused. "But if you have her favour, then you also are net-weavers and sorcerers, maybe." He gazed on the dwarf and the elf, a little behind and to the left of Aragorn. "Why do you not speak, silent ones?"

"Give me your name, horse-master, and I will give you mine, and more." Said Gimli, casually leaning on his axe. Aragorn suppressed a groan and put a hand on his shoulder, not only to show his friendship but also to contain the short-fused dwarf.

The rider should not have spoken ill of the Lady. Gimli had developed a rather curious infatuation for her.

And properly infuriated, the dwarf proved that size didn't matter.

But the rohirrim showed a very disturbing coolness, and his voice, when he replied, was silky and low - "As for that, the strangers must the stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am named Éomer, son of Éomund, and am called Third Marshal of Riddermark."

"Then Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, let Gimli the Dwarf, Glóin's son warn you against foolish words. You speak of evil of that which is fair beyond reach of your thought and only little wit can excuse that."

Three against one hundred and five, and Gimli was picking a fight with the company.

Éomer was properly angered. And bugger, Aragorn _had warned them about the people of Rohan being proud and wilful. "I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood a little higher from the ground."_

"He stands not alone," said Legolas as he fitted an arrow on the bow and had it ready for the shot, "You would die before your stroke fell."

It does seem folly to the men around, except Aragorn who had been raised in Rivendell and knew the customs of the Eldar. For an elf does not run from his responsibility, nor leaves his friends, even when death is upon them and they have a chance to walk away. For running from their fates is a terrible thing from them, even if the fate is not a good one, and in that path lies doom and madness, as history proves.

"The riders closed the circle, and things would've ended up horribly, but Aragorn stepped in between and raised his hands in a sign of peace. "Your pardon, Éomer!" he exclaimed. "When you know more you will understand why you have angered my companions. We intend no evil to Rohan, nor to any of its folk, neither to man nor to horse. Will you hear our tale before you strike?"

"I will," he said. "But wanderers in the Riddermark would be wise to be less haughty in these days of doubt…"

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn.  We track a band of Uruk-Hai, westward across the plain," Aragorn explained. "They have taken two of our friends captive."

"You need not pursue them further," Éomer responded. "The orcs are destroyed."

"Did you see two hobbits?" asked Gimli, all hostility forgotten. 

"We found nothing but orcs," replied Éomer, with a surprisingly kind voice. "We left none alive."

"Did you search the slain?" Aragorn inquired. "Were there no bodies other than those of orc-kind? They would be small, only children to your eyes, unshod, but clad in grey."

Éomer seemed to debate something with himself. Then he whistled. "Hasufel! Arod!" And the horses went forward, like trained dogs. "May them bring you better luck than their former masters."

"Look for your friends, but do not trust hope. It is forsaken on these lands." Said the marshal forebodingly, and turned back to Edoras.

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@ Fangorn Forest, March 1st of 3019.

Their horses had fled during the night. Saruman had appeared – briefly. They were lost in the core of the one forest more dangerous than Mirkwood (although Mirkwood would be nothing to Legolas, as he _lived there), and they had not found the hobbits yet._

And that was the bad news.

The good news was: they had proof of the survival of the two hobbits - and that was what had urged him into those woods, against the better warning of Lord Celeborn. That was the only good news, but after running non-stop for four days after the hope of seeing them alive again, it was _really_ good news…

In the light of dawn they ate what food they had left and resumed their tasks.

"This forest is old," said Legolas, "So old it makes me feel young again, as I haven't felt since I began to journey with you children. It's full of memory… and anger… don't you feel the tension? You can hardly breathe!"

That could've been because the trees were so close to one another, as well, but Aragorn and Gimli took Legolas' word on it – if the elf said the forest was full of anger, then the forest was full of anger. The air was hard to breath, and there was almost no light piercing the foliage. It was a very depressing woods. 

With that they dug deeper into the forest, following the trails of two hobbits – "That is good news," Aragorn had said, "but these tracks are two days old. And here they left the shore."

"What do we do now?" asked Gimli. "We brought little provision, and if we don't find them soon, we will be of no use but to starve with them as a sign of our friendship."

"If that's all that we can do, then we must do it. Let's go ahead." Said Aragorn.

Onwards they marched, to the abrupt clearing of the hill. "Let's come up and look around!" cried Legolas, "I still fight to breathe. I'd like to breathe free air for some time. We took a detour. Aragorn, look."

They walked a few meters, and suddenly Legolas stood very still. Aragorn knew that couldn't be good. "Aragorn, nad no ennas!" Aragorn, something's out there. the elf whispered.

"Man cenich?" what do you see? Aragorn asked, getting close to him.

"The White Wizard approaches. But he is not alone." The elf said, indicating his left with the slightest move of his fair head. They were standing on a high elevation of the stone, looking around to the forest surrounding them. It was thick, and heavy, and one can hardly see through the woods.

"Prepare your bow, Legolas. We must be quick, do not let him speak –or else he'll put a spell on us."

They tried, that can be said of them. And yet their weapons were thrown on the ground by an unseen force, leaving them unarmed before the people before them – a man involved in light, and two shadows behind him, below the stairs. 

"Welcome friends. I wish a word with you, will you go down, or should I go up?" said the man, and there was a light teasing in his voice. Saruman was mocking them. Like a young sheep he climbed the stairs, standing before them. "Welcome, I say again. And you're all wore in elfish fashion, no doubt a tale worthy of being heard."

Then he laughed, and his laughter was like fresh rain.

"You are following the tracks of two hobbits. They were here the day before yesterday, and they met someone they did not expect." The man said, still clad in light. Aragorn then lost his temper, despite the fact that he was unable to use his sword.

"Who are you? Show yourself!"

"Haven't you guessed?" he said, and the light around him faded. They could now see the strangers behind him, but paid no attention, because men, elf and dwarf were more concerned about the wizard before them ((A.N.: They didn't know by then they were all wizards … lol!)).

"Mithrandir!" cried Legolas, and kneeled down.

"Gandalf!" inquired Aragorn, with a disbelieving tone. "But it cannot be! You fell!"

"Gandalf," he said… "Yes, that was my name." A heartfelt smile crept on his lips.

"Through fire and water I fell. And in the endless pit I fought my enemy –then the creature started to come up, climbing the Endless Stairs, a continuous spiral with thousands of stairs, that go to the deepest dungeon to the peak of the mountain. And when I defeated my enemy, I felt darkness. The stairs were around me, where every day is like an age of men. But I felt life in me again," he paused, looking at his companions. "I was sent back to fulfil my task. I turn back to you now at the turn of the tide."

"But swift like shadows we must be if we don't want that tide to drown us," said one of the beings behind him, and their attention was brought back to them.  They were both in dark green and brown, wearing olive cloaks that had a weird sign on their chests. And they were elves.

Elves with red hair. _But elves don't have red hair!_

"Oh yes, Damon, we must. I spoke of hope, but hope brings no victory if we stand still. War is upon us and our friends. I was Gandalf the grey, now I am Gandalf the White. But the Black is still more powerful."

The other's voice was heard, and with a gasp of surprise they realised it was, in fact, a she-elf. "We must be glad the temptation is now far from us, if anything else. "

"Oh, yes. This is Arien, and that is her sworn-brother Damon. But we will talk more on our way. Come now Aragorn, son of Arathorn! In the dark hours you have chosen wisely, and got your reward – otherwise we may have met only too late. But the search for your companions is over. Your next journey takes to Edoras, where you must look for Theoden. They need you."

"There is war in Rohan, and something else: I sense a shadow in the Golden Halls." Said Damon again.

**'_I sense shadow in the golden halls? You're so full of crap, buddy.'_

_**'Like you did so very much different. Huh? Temptation away from us. Gosh, you sound like a protestant."_

_**'Don't be rude.'_

_**'Hit home?'_

"Won't we see the merry hobbits again?" Asked Legolas.

**'_Did you hear what they were talking about?'_

_**'No, you distracted me.'_

_**'Shit.'_

"I did not say that," Gandalf said. "They are now with Fangorn. Who may know? Go where you must, and be hopeful! To Edoras! We go there as well. Will you go with me?"

"Yes, we leave together. And don't I say the truth when I said you could come faster than I? And I also say: you are our captain and our banner. We'll go wherever you take us."

~*~

They walked to the borders of the forest. Gimli was complaining about walking to Edoras on foot. Legolas was telling Gandalf how they had thought they had seen- and had, indeed, Gandalf replied, for I was not here last night – Saruman. Aragorn walked alongside with them, keeping a careful eye on the strangers.

Sure, they were elves but… they were weird. They acted weird. They were wary and on their guards, as someone who had been tossed in the nest of Mirkwood spiders, instead of being with friends of a friend.

And the she-elf looked as if she had seen an orc. Specifically, if _Aragorn was _the aforementioned orc. Odd. The first impulse of an elf would be to behave like that, yes he knew of it. But to behave like that towards _Gimli! It was with the dwarves that elves had an issue, not mortal men. And she moved on as if the dwarf was nothing that could ever bother her._

But Aragorn bothered her. He could feel it. It was on the way she averted her gaze from his eyes.

An elf should hide her emotions more proficiently. Like the other, Damon. Aragorn couldn't say what he was thinking or feeling to save his dear life.

They kept to themselves, those strangers. They rode side by side with Gandalf, on their own horses – the five of them had come together when the wizard called. All they were able to take out of them was that they were from a very distant realm, that they were not blood-siblings but rather very close friends and that they were familiar with Fangorn.

And that they were friends of Gandalf's. And Gandalf could be trusted to befriend good people, so Aragorn wouldn't worry about them. And yet, he felt something in the back of his mind.

They rode all night long, apart from a few hours rest Gandalf allowed them.

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@ Edoras, Rohan. March 2nd of 3019.

The Southern Mountains were ahead of them, glittering golden as the rising sun reflected on the snow. Dawning had been particularly beautiful that day, with rosy rays of light coming from the mountain range. And Rohan was a beautiful country, with no mistake – there was an undeniable charm on the simplicity, the austerity and the dignity of both land and people.

They were still far from the city, when Gandalf spoke. "Look!" there was silence as they beheld the landscape before them. "Speak, Legolas! Tell us what you see ahead of us."

"I see a white river coming down from the snow. In the point it leaves the shadow of the mountains, a green hill spreads to the east. A ditch, a powerful wall, and a hedgerow of thorns. Inside, I see roofs of houses; and in the middle, over a green platform, rises imponent a big house of men. It seems to me its roof is made of gold, as golden are the rabbets. There I see men with shirts of metal but all the others inside the patio are asleep yet."

_**'Show off'_ Arien used The Link to comment with Damon. They have been talking all night long, but the others couldn't tell. 'When in danger, tell the least you can, and listen as much as possible her mother had said, and it had served her fine till now.

_**'I would appreciate it if you did an effort to behave a bit more convincingly, Enn. The man is getting suspicious.'_

_**'I know. Don't you think I know?'_

_**'So whatever the hell is wrong with you?'_

_**'He's creepy._

_**'Language, Arien.'_

_**'This is my mind, Damon, so sod off. But seriously now, what should I do?'_

_**'Take a deep breath and act normal.'_

_**'Normal? What is that? I don't know what it is, I don't know how to act it.'_

_**'Figures.'_

"The city is called Edoras, and Meduseld is the golden palace. There lives Theoden, son of Thengel, King of Rohan. We come with the rising sun – it's easier to see the road now. But we must ride carefully, for the war is spreading and the Rohirrin never sleeps, even when it seems they do. Do not draw any weapon, nor speak arrogant words, I warn you all, till we are before the throne of Theoden." Said Gandalf.

_**'Couldn't he just say: we approach Edoras now, and that is the residence of the king. This are dangerous days, so please do not ask for trouble? No, he had to make a speech out of it. Oh, dear.' _Thought Arien.__

_**'They ARE fond of words, no mistake there' _Damon replied, and even his mental waves were filled with laughter_. _The renegades shared a lot of jokes, and made fun of basically everything, but their companions didn't notice- on the outside, they appear only serious, and focused.

With no other words they rode to the gates of the city, where a group of guards were already waiting for them.

"Halt, unknown strangers." said the guards, in their own language.  Then they asked for their names and business.

_**'These guys certainly know how to be friendly.'_

_**'Why don't you sweep them off their feet telling you actually have been here before, Enn?'_

_**'Polyjuice. I was short, and blond. They wouldn't recognise me.'_

"I understand what you say," said Gandalf in the same language. "but few foreign people do. Why don't you speak in the Common Tongue, if you want your questions answered?"

_**'He has a point, you know.' _Stated Damon.

"Theoden commands that no man should enter his gates without those who know our language and are our friends. Who are you, dressed in such a strange way, and why do you come in horses so alike our own? And this is one of the _Mearas, _unless our eyes are under some kind of spell."

_**'Temping...' Arien mused._

_**'I agree, but somehow I think it would threaten our already delicate position.'_

_**'Shit, Damie, speak normally, will you?'_

_**'This is my mind, and if you don't like it...'_

_**'Got it.'_

"These are your horses, as you well knew before you asked. Éomer lent us them, and we came here to return them, as we promised. Did he not return, then, and tell about us?_' said Aragorn, indicating Hasufel and Arod._

"I have nothing to say about Éomer, but perhaps your coming is not unexpected. You may come before the king, but not bear any weapons in his halls." Replied the guard, and the five companions removed their weapons. That, as you can see, took some time, as they were quite heavily armed. Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli made quite a show of it, threatening 'kill whoever touches these weapons'. But Aragorn was the cherry of the cake, making a big fuss about being the heir of Isildur, and the sword being re-forged, blah, blah, blah…

_**'Honestly. For a second I thought we were travelling with grown ups.'_

_**'And you are so very different, aren't you?'_

_**'I don't make a show out of this.'_

_**'You have a wand up in your sleeve, Enn.'_

_**'Nobody needs to know about that.'_

That was, of course, (relatively) peaceful till the guard asked for Gandalf's staff.

"Foolishness!" cried Gandalf, greatly insulted. "Caution is one thing, discourtesy is another. I am old. If I can't lean on my stick to walk there, then I will stay here, until Theoden himself comes limping here, to speak to me!"

Aragorn smiled. "Every man has something too dear to trust another. But would you part an old man from his walking stick? Come on, won't you let us in?"

"A walking stick in the hands of a wizard can be more than support. But I believe you are friends, and honoured people, without evil purposes. You may come in.," said Háma, the guard.

**'_This is your cue, Enn. Go now.'_

The guards rose the locking of the doors, and they opened soundly. The halls were dark and oppressive, and Arien shuddered, behind the line. Thought there were windows, and stone statues in natural size of the great kings of the past, near the columns.

_**'It's like entering into a Celtic village in the medieval age.'_

_**'You're wasting time.'_

She raced forward till she was side-by-side with Aragorn, and leaned her head closer to his –they were the same height – and whispered, "Part a man from his walking stick? My, my, Aragorn, you cunning fellow." And he didn't turn his head to answer, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. All that he said was, "Here is Eorl, The Young!" and pointed to a tapestry hanging on the wall.

And they were before the throne.

_**'Gods, this guy needs a shopping service. He looks terrible.'_

_**'Ordinarily I'd say you're being girlie and futile, but I feel forced to say you're right, I could have nightmares for years over this.'_

_**'I will have nightmares over years because of Moria.'_

_**'That too.'_

The king was so shrunken he looked like a dwarf, sitting on his throne, his white hair falling in braids from under his crown. Behind him stood a beautiful woman dressed in white, and in his right side, on his feet, sat a very, very pale man.

_**'Freak show.'_ Arien pointed, a mixture of wonder and contempt in her thought.

"Hail Theoden, son of Thengel!" greeted Gandalf. "I have returned! You see, the storm draws near, and friends must stand together, or be destroyed one by one."

"I greet you, but I do not welcome you. You have always been a courier of ill news: problems follow you like crows, and the more frequently you appear, the worst. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf, storm crow? Tell me."

"You speak well, my lord." Said the pale man. His extremely pale face seemed to glow in the darkened room, not in the ethereal, unworldly way of the elves – and half-elven – but in an extremely sick, living-dead kind of way. "For it is not five days that thy son, Theodred, was slaughtered in the borders: thy right-arm, Second Marshal of Riddermark. In Éomer we cannot trust. Few men we have to guard our walls. And even now Gondor tells us that the Enemy stirs in the east. Why, in truth, should we welcome you master Stormcrow? I name you Láthspell, ill news; and ill news makes not good guest, so they say…" and with that he smiled. It was rather creepy.

**_'They DO love words here. I have never seen someone take so long to say:" you are a git, get out of here" before. Mental, all of them.'_

_**'Quiet, Arien. I'm trying to pay attention.'_

_**'Sorry.'_

"You are considered wise, and are doubtlessly a great friend to your master. But now keep your bifurcated tongue behind your teeth! I have not passed through fire and death to exchange hypocrite words with a servant."

And with that he raised his stick, and Gríma cried, "Didn't I warn thee, my Lord, to forbid that stick! That fool, Háma, betrayed us!" but a bright light invaded the room, and Gríma fell on the ground.

**_'I think it answers the "are they wizards like us" question, doesn't it Damie?'_

_**'That, darling, was the understatement of the millennia.'_

Then, of course, was when all hell broke loose. The guards went to Gandalf in a beeline, and of, course, it was up to them to keep the soldiers off the Istar. But Gandalf didn't look the slightest bit contrite about it, in fact, he kept going towards the throne as if nothing wrong had happened.

While the five people behind them kept his back by fighting hand-to-hand with the royal guard.

"The courtesy of your halls has lessened of late. Now, Theoden son of Thengel, will you not hear me? Are you seeking help?" he raised his stick and pointed to the window. "Not all is dark. Be courageous, Lord of the Horse Masters, as you will find no better aid. I have no counsel for the desperate, but I could give you some. Will you not listen? For they are not for any ears."

Slowly the king rose from his chair, and the woman in white ran to help him. They walked through the hall and out the door –by then the guards had stopped jumping at the foreigners - and Gandalf, of course, made a show out of the man going outside. They went outside to speak of strategical matters –still with Gandalf making a fuss of it, and then, of course, they had to witness the Lady In White, as Arien had called her in her thoughts, staring at Aragorn.

_**'By all that's holy, what's the matter with her?'_

_**'Why?'_

_**'You have a drop dead gorgeous elf, and drop-dead gorgeous half-elf, and you drool over the filthy stinky human instead^? There is something WRONG with her, I'm telling you. Like blindness.'_

_**'That was rich, coming from someone who talks for hours about prejudice._

_**'But let's be practical here. You can hardly see him under the filth. AND you have two images of sheer beauty in front of you. What in hell has she seen in him? Don't tell me it is his character, strong will, bravery and all that crap because she hardly knows him. Hell, we hardly know him, and only by what Gandalf told us.'_

_**'Got a point there.'_

_**'Of course I do. That girl is mental.'_

"Now, my friend – breath free air again!" said Gandalf to the King, who was looking younger by the minute – he now stood straight, and had let go of his stick. The lines of worry on his forehead were diminishing as if they'd never been there at all.

"It is not so dark here." Said the King.

"No, nor the age weighs you as much as some want you to believe. Throw your staff away!"

**'_Typical of him, to forget we are here at all.'_

_**'You are in a very poor mood, aren't you?'_

_**'PMS.'_

_**'Figures. I almost pity the orcs.'_

_**'Smart ass.'_

"Dark have been my dreams of late. And now I wish you had come here before, Gandalf. For I fear it is too late, and you came only to see the last days of my house." Theoden said, still in a dream-like voice.

"Much we can do still. But first call for Éomer. He loves you much, and is a worthy man. Am I not right when I suppose you are keeping him prisoner, under the counsel of Gríma Wormtongue?"

"I will. And tell Háma to bring him to me, as he proved to be an untrusting sentinel, let him be a courier!"

Háma left, seemed very pleased – even if the king had acted with no small bit of sarcasm – and while he was gone Gandalf whispered confidentially with the Riddermark's king. Then Éomer returned and offered the King his sword – the King's, not Éomer's.

~*~

"Now come, my guests! Come and have what comfort this time allows."

They entered the great house and sat at the King's table. Theoden and Gandalf, as always, oblivious to everyone else's presence (save perhaps Aragorn's from time to time) went on and on discussing Saruman's betrayal. Wormtongue had left to his true master's tower, and the others were talking quietly. The White Lady, of course, kept staring and drooling at Aragorn – in a very discreet, very aristocratic sort of way. But at least now she was excused – he had bathed and shaved.

And looked devilishly handsome.

It was downright annoying. Not to say most unsettling.

Arien thought it was best not to look at him and kept talking with the others. It may have seemed a bit odd, but at least it was better than gawking on him. After all, he might get a big head after that.

And she had more pressing matters at hand. _Like speaking with an elf as if they were elves, and not let him notice that they were a fraud, even when the elf was three thousand years old and extremely intelligent._

And one may imagine the state of agitation Gimli was in when they said their nation lays in the east.

"Keep your axe on your belt, Master Gimli;" said Damon in a silky, soothing way. "Not all the East is under the spell of the Enemy. Our nation lays there and we are not his minions."

Gimli didn't seem too convinced.

"Tell me about your homeland. I had never had the chance to know a dwarf before, and I am very curious." Arien asked.

That made the dwarf look even more suspicious.

"Was it something I said?' she spoke softly, frowning.

"Nay," said Legolas with a half-grin. He paused briefly to shoot a teasing glare on his dwarf-friend, "It's just that Gimli has yet to learn how to behave near beautiful elf-maidens."

"Well," said Arien in the same light tone, "whenever you find one, do tell her that."

"Why are you on these dangerous roads?" asked Aragorn, suddenly. 

"If you come with that you-are-a-female-therefore-you-must-crawl-and-hide speech, I'll think less of you_. Much less_." She warned. More than a few Rohirrin warriors looked at her wonderingly.

"No, it's just that it's… "

"Weird?"

"Rare."

"Oh, I see. The military organization of the Middle-earth society would of course make the civilizations assume a somewhat… sexist… structure, I guess. But the Republic has been secluded for many millennia, and we have not bothered with anything till now. So you see, males and females are given the same privileges, and the same obligations."

"You mean, that she-elves are called upon defending the country as well?" said Aragorn, succeeding on keeping his amazement hidden in his voice –there was only the hint of a polite curiosity. _The guy was a cosmopolite_.

"Quite right." She beamed.

_**'Careful. Don't speak too much.'_

"But you seem so…young." Aragorn stated as politely as he managed.

"She is," spoke Damon for the first time. "Not even three hundred years old."

"_That was rather rude of you, Damie."*_ Arien said in Antarian.

"She's a child." Said Legolas. Gimli stared at her.

"I am not! May I remind you, Master Legolas, that we are considered adults when we turn one-hundred?" _thankyoumomthankyoumomthankyoumom…_

"But you are still rather young."

God knows –and Valkyria, and Aimeé, and anyone who ever crossed paths with Arien in either Aryan or the Board of Wizards,- that her patience went only so far.

"_Okay_, so I'm rather young. It just happens that I'm the only antarian who has set foot outside the borders in _fifteen millennia_, and one who has the _slightest idea_ on the mortal behaviour, plus the only one who speaks _all _ the languages of middle-earth. So, _sorry_ if you don't like me, buddy, but I'm not leaving." She said in a high-pitched voice.

"Show off." Laughed Damon. But what he said in her mind was entirely different. **'_Hadn't I warned you about not talking too much?'_

_**'Fuck it. We just charm their memories later.'_

_**'Who's the 'I-have-experience-with-spying-and-you-don't of us now?'_

_**'I may irritate them and still keep the cover, thanks loads.'_

"I'm not showing off." She said with a contrite, embarrassed smile. To her utter horror, she also felt her cheeks warming, the sure signs of a telltale blush. _Oh, dear._

Legolas expression, one minute ago so open and cheerful, was now once again guarded. "It is I who must apologise, milady," he said, but his eyes were still cold as ice; "For my bad choice of words."

She waved her hand as if it was nothing. "Forget it, if you can, and do not apologise. You cannot be blamed by my short temper. And you are right; anyway, I am still a child, in many ways. But this was a pressing matter, and we couldn't hold the events till I was ready for them – they needed a guide, and I was the only one available." She turned her gaze to the dwarf with her best iron-melting smile, the one that always had Andrea grinning and made her father search for the moon in the sky  and whatever else she may have wanted. "Did I lose my chance of hearing of the Mountain Realm? This is a pity indeed, and will certainly teach me to watch my mouth, as I was most curious after you spoke last night of it."

_**'That was brilliant darling.'_

_**'I aim to please. Well, hang on: I make a very bad mistake every once in a while, but generally I fix it.'_

_**'**Generally**?'_

_**'Well, nobody's perfect. Not even me.'_

Gimli, as expected, was way too happy to talk about the wonders of his homeland to find anything suspicious –if an elf wanted to be taught in why the dwarves were superior, he would oblige.

"Then let me tell you about the dwarf-real In Erebor, in the Lonely Mountain, and the glittering walls of stone that sparkle in the light…" started Gimli, with an eerie look on his eyes. For hours he spoke of the Stone-city, and the riches beneath the earth, and he even spoke of Bilbo.

"But certainly Gandalf told you that story." Gimli finished with a wave of his hands.

_**'Well, not really. We really missed all this action, Damie…'_

"Yes, but you cannot bath in the same river twice- the river is different, and so are you." She provided with a smile. Damon had monopolised the talk till then and made a wonderful job of it, but she would have to step in, like any female raised in equal conditions with males, would she not? "Although I must say it does clarify some things for me. Gandalf certainly found greatly amusing not to tell me that we were supposed to be unfriendly with you. He should have given us a warning. We would have done a better job at looking menacing and despicable."

_**'Did I tell you how odd it is to hear you speaking like that?'_

_**'Don't tell **me**…'_

"Oh, whatever would I do such thing for?" said Gandalf in the best boyish way a man that old could manage. Damon laughed.

"I'm glad you didn't." said the slytherin.

"How come you never knew of it? It's ancient story." Demanded Legolas – in his cool, detached, aristocratic tone.

"Antar has been isolated since the beginning of the first age." Stated Damon, as if he had nothing to hide.

"But you said you had walked off your country." Legolas insisted, the question implied in his silky voice.

"And I also said I never crossed paths with one dwarf before. I deal with humans, mostly." _Honestly, one would think he was aggrieved by her not wanting to chop Gimli's head off._

"Humans?" asked Aragorn, who had quietly let Legolas do the questioning – for it was a questioning – "What are humans? A race I know?"

"I rather think you do! For you are one, that's what we call Mortal Men." Declared Damon.

"We think the term Mortal men is a bit…improper. Snobbish, even; no offence, Legolas."

His response was flat. "None taken."

_**'Seems we got the dwarf and the human halfway gone. Unsurprisingly, the elf may be a problem.'  Arien commented._

_**'Dammit.'_

The renegades had no more time for talking because they were called to receive armours by the king. The rohirrim made a debate over who should lead the remaining people –that would go to the Temple in the Hill – and they decided it would be the Lady In White, Éowyn sister-daughter of Theoden. 

They left the city with one thousand strong, in the middle of the afternoon, and rode non-stop till after dusk. Then, after a little halt, they resumed their ride. Éomer was carrying Gimli (who liked to look strong and foreboding but had a heart of melted butter) in his horse, as a sign of peace over some stupid quarrel they had had for a lady- **'_well, at least they went back to their senses. 'Arien commented with Damon. _But all the time she felt the hair on her nape standing up as it usually did when someone was watching her.

Legolas.

_Peripheral vision._

_**'So much for blending in the background.'_

They rode all night long.

A.N: like it? Please review!


	7. Chapter six: Fighting more than orcs at ...

A.N.: sorry about the delay…^_^   I had to discuss some things with my never-tiring beta, and we found out some things that would absolutely not work, therefore we had to go back a little… 

I am mixing the movie and the books (this is fanfiction, and even I can't write that long…. We would get nowhere. So bear with me, please?)

Warning: it goes very, very complicated from now on. (Hint: **pay attention!)**

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**Chapter Six: Fighting more than orcs at Helm's Deep**

**_"In time we hate what we often fear." Antony and Cleopatra, Shakespeare_**.

@ Rohan, Helm's Deep. March 3rd of 3019.

**'Well, things could be better, but they could also be worse.'

They rode for two days. The company met wandering groups of orcs – who fled – and a scout from Erkebrand of the West Fold, that told them the Rohirrim army had been outnumbered and defeated. That was the part in which the king had lead them in breakneck speed to the fortress in helm's Deep –because a much larger army was approaching, and was not a friendly one-, and Gandalf said he had to go but would meet them again at the gates of Helm. 

And when they entered the stronghold, they found an army in there- all the men who could retreat to helm, did. They had another thousand men or so – but most of them had seen too many winters, or too few.

Helm's deep had caves that could shelter hundreds of people, and let them resist for a very, very long time. But they had this one little problem.

Provisions.

No idea of how long the battle would take, and barely any food for one hundred men, much less two thousand people.

"Well, I'm not Jesus Christ, and God knows I'm not a saint, but I think I can handle this little problem." Arien said, looking at the room around her. One man was guarding the entrance, as the renegades had gone straight there as soon as they got in the fortification. Damon was standing beside her, shooting daggers with his eyes. They had resumed talking in antarian.

"Stop making fun of it, Arien." He said, and his voice was a cold hiss. "Pray tell what you thought you were doing?"

_Whoa. Someone's angry. And why wouldn't he?_

"Okay, Damie. What's the matter with you?"

"You nearly blown the cover, that's the matter with you!"

"No, I didn't!"

"You told them all about Antar! And you practically told them all about us!"

"I did exactly what I wanted to do."

"Excuse me?"

Arien thought quickly. It was extremely dangerous to try to outsmart a slytherin, even more when the aforesaid slytherin was also several millennia old and very, very smart. That was the Hogwarts' motto: _Draco dormiens nunquam tilintantus – never tickle a sleeping dragon._ But she was – tickling a sleeping dragon. And if she didn't find a perfectly fitting story, she'd probably be in a lot of trouble. Unless she charmed him, but then sooner or later the truth would go out and then she'd be in even more trouble…

She took a deep, calming breath.

"You see, the easiest, most uncomplicated way of making them buy our story was not to invent a lie –it would have too many wholes on it, we had no time to built one, and it would have failures either way. It was to tell the truth – more precisely, to build a story using bits of the truth as a foundation. Now we are able to make friends with the dwarf, who is the weaker link of the chain, and through him we'll get the elf, who's the most experienced and suspicious of the lot. The human will fall for it somewhere in the near future –all we have to do to explain to him my initial resistance with some pre-fabricated story, also not very far from the truth; we'll say he reminds me someone, and that's why I was reserved at first." She paused to breath, but Damon interrupted her.

"You wanted me to think that all those giveaways you slip during the trip were intentional? You should know better than to think me blind, Enn."

He was still angry, but he was calling her by her nickname.

"You think whatever you want to. But the thing is: it worked. The isolation thing is quite easily explained by the threat Morgoth was – we could always say we descend from a bunch of elves that survived one of those endless wars and retreated. But then Morgoth was defeated, and we shut out from the world. Simple – believable. Nobody will question. Although I don't suggest it -the least you say, the more unlikely it is to be caught…"

"But that's what I'm trying to tell you, you're saying too much!"

"But right now, what else could I do? We could charm the wizard because –" she paused, and cast several silencing spells on the room. Just to be on the safe side. "We could charm the wizard because he was hurt, and defenseless. This is different; I don't want to take any chances. Not with so many people around, and I certainly don't want anyone to know that we can perform magic. But they are not idiots, and this is a time of war, people get suspicious of shadows these days. We couldn't simply come from behind a stone and not tell anything beside our names. They would request a nation, what side we are on, and all that. On their position, we'd do the same."

Damon looked at her through narrowed eyes. Those pale-blue eyes of his assumed the piercing manner of Dumbledore's, and on occasion Harry's, Sirius' and Severus'. The kind that pierced your soul and laid it bare.

_'Thank goodness I had training with that, too.'_ She thought, with her mind firmly shut. It didn't strike her as odd, his was shut as well. Honestly, they shared lots, but they'd eventually miss privacy. Like right then.

"Right then." he said, not entirely convinced. He then shrugged in a careless way that sent shivers down her spine – the bad kind of shivers. "Next time you come up with brilliant ideas, do let me know first."

"I'll let you know whatever you need to know, Damon. But do not think you can ask for control over my person, not even the Queen has it. I am my very own Mistress, and I'll give no one else any power over me. Do you understand it?" she hissed, in a very impatient, very gryffindor way.

"I do. But remember where your allegiances lay."

"What _the hell_?"

But Damon was already gone, casting a Memory Charm on the guard. She only had time to multiply the provisions and the door was opened again. A low-rank soldier. Possibly infantry.

"The King wishes to speak with you, milady."

'Oh, fuck it. How worse could my day get? And we were not even attacked yet…' 

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It was almost midnight –the blackest night most of them remembered, even if rain clouds usually made the night sky look purple. But not that night, that night the clouds made the sky look blacker. Éomer and Aragorn had already organized their two thousand people as they could – some in the dam, but most of them in the walls of Helm's fortress, and some in the Tower.

But the soldier that were guarding the dam had to withdraw to the solid stonewalls when the army of orcs and southern men blew it down. Five hundred men sprang in a desperate race to the gates while they still could. Arrows fled in the dark, and yet no response came from Helm's Deep. Aragorn had gone down to the gates to push the enemies away. He returned later with Gimli saying that he, Gimli, has saved his, Aragorn's, and Éomer's lives. 

When the dwarf returned, he caressed the blade of the axe lovingly, gloating at Legolas. "I killed two!"

"Two?! I got a better score, thought now I have to search for arrows in the darkness –mine are gone. Nevertheless, my count is at least twenty. But that's no more than a few leaves in the forest."

 And three times they defended the gates in desperate fury, three times the enemy approached them, and each time they stopped closer. All arrow and spear had been thrown.

Or almost all of them. Arien and Damon kept vigil on the east part of the walls, shooting arrow after arrow in the dark. If anyone noticed or found odd that their quivers didn't go empty, they did not say. And they didn't have time for it, because the orcs had managed to climb the wall and were invading the patio inside. They were not awfully smart, at least not the common kind of orcs, but they were persistent, coming in successive waves to be killed by the warriors inside the fortress.

But of course, numbers did favor them.

"Khazâd! Khazâd ai menu!" cried Gimli, waving his axe expertly in several orcs. "Come, master Legolas! There are orcs enough for both of us!"

They slayed the orcs in little time, their differences completing each other's skills wonderfully. They were a _hell_ of a team. Legolas moved with grace and cat-like fluidity, making of the act of killing an art, and his eyes gleamed in cold fury and purpose. Gimli moved solidly, but by no means slowly –any orc that stood near him was reduced to pieces in a moment's time, and in his deep brown eyes the joy of battle was clear. Soon they were only a foul-smelling pile of carcasses on the floor.

"Your kind is distinguished for being experts on the stone working, Master Gimli. Could you not help us restore these walls?" asked Gamlimd, an old man who was in the fortification before they came. He was to lead the West fold's people in the absence of Erkebrand.

"We do not dig into stone with battle axes, nor with our bare hands. But I will help you if I can." Gimli said, and requested any stone and wood they had spare to fix the flaw. One hour later, he goes back his place, and finds Legolas sharpening his long elven knives, while Aragorn and Éomer discussed strategy in hurriedly. It was two in the morning, and the enemy had not yet attacked in full force – and the waiting was insufferable.

"Twenty-one, master Legolas!" cried Gimli, beaming. Legolas raised his clear eyes from the knives and smiled.

"Good. But now my score is two dozens at least – up here the work was done with knives."

"Run out of arrows, master Legolas?" asked Damon, approaching. He carried a bunch of arrows on his hands. As the question was merely rhetorical, he offered some them to the elf. "I got more from the towers, we ran out of them in our platform."

"I appreciate it, Master Damon."

"Think nothing of it. Aragorn, what do you say? Do we stay at the platform or would you like us to change places?"

"I rather liked you on the eastern watch platform, Damon. From there you can help keeping the gates."

"As you wish. Now, if you excuse me." The slytherin said, bowing to them, and left.

"That's not fair! This is cheating!" shouted Gimli, playfully. Legolas arched an elegant eyebrow (the kind of eyebrow that would look feminine in anyone else…).

"That's only the weapon, Master Gimli, I still have to use my skills to score. But would you prefer me to return the gift?"

"No, it's not necessary. I'll still outscore you."

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"Satisfied?" Damon hissed.

"Very. Honestly, Damie_, chill out_. Last time I checked, I was the child of the duo."

"I can't help but think I'm betraying Antar."

"You're not betraying Antar. Antar sent us with strict orders to help them, so we are doing _that_."

"I know. But every time I look at them, I remember the words my father told me, the horrors they lived…"

"They are not the same people, Damon-- Hey, do you know if they invented dynamite already?"

"Why do you ask me? You're the one who goes wandering around."

 "Because that thing glowing white looks a lot like explosive to me." 

"Load your bow." Said Damon grimly, and they started to shoot arrow after arrow. But it didn't work out as they planned –there was always another orc to take the explosive from the fallen one and advance some more towards the walls of the barrage. They knew they couldn't hold for long - there were thousands of them around. The renegades were only buying time.

"Get off the dam! Go back!" Damon yelled at the westfold man who were still defending the vulnerable dam, but they had trouble believing the half-elven, for whatever reason. The withdrawal was lingering.

_BOOM._

Water and orcs invaded the valley immediately, and in waves –the battle for Helm's deep had _really_ begun. Of course the rohirrim army hurried to push them away, but there were too many of them.

So many.

Chaos everywhere in the valley bellow, only two archers still shooting, from the east platform – everyone else had ran down to the breach. The waves of orcs and men forcing them to retreat, till the voice of The King's captain was heard.

"To the Hornburg! Go back inside!" cried Háma, trying to be heard above the screams of battle. The rohirrim obeyed as they could –some went back to the tower, the final safe spot after the walls and the dam had been broken; others hid on the glittering caves. With great anxiety Damon saw that most of the soldiers were already inside, and that they would be trapped out.

Aragorn was still outside. Legolas was protecting him, his last arrow in his bow.

"Go back Aragorn! All are in." Said the elf. Aragorn turned, but he was worn out and, due to his weariness, tripped on his feet. The horde of Uruk-Hai and ordinary orcs was waiting for just that, and jumped ahead to get him. Legolas' arrow pierced the first orc's throat, and several other arrows took care of the rest of them. That was the moment in which Aragorn, from the door of hornburg, looked up to see who was shooting, and saw the renegades placid and calm in their spots up in the eastern platform, shooting arrow after arrow at unbelievable speed, in every direction.

"They are _alone_." Said Aragorn in awe, marvelling once again at the deadly beauty of an Eldar in battle. They were surrounded by who knows how many thousand orcs, with no possible way of escape; two elves with a half-empty quiver and swords, trapped outside for staying were they were ordered to. "We must go to their rescue!"

"Yes, but now you are distracting them! They'll need those arrows to protect themselves rather than you. Get inside so we can gather our forces." Said the elf, millennia of orc-fighting and battling of experience speaking practically. Only in his eyes Aragorn could see emotion, and that because they knew each other for the better part of sixty years.

_They had left them to stand alone_.

It hurt him like a thousand stabs could not possibly do.  And Gandalf – how would Aragorn ever face Gandalf after that?

But Legolas was right, of course. Aragorn was yet to see the day the elven prince of Mirkwood would be proven wrong. So he hastily entered hornburg 

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Damon let out an impressive amount of imprecations. The only thing he did not attack was Aragorn's sexuality, but then again he had made several cruel comments about the _'friendship'_ of Legolas and Gimli, so that may not count.

Okay, so the quivers wouldn't go empty –but then again, now they had the wraith of thousands of orcs directed only at them. Sooner or later they _would get hurt. _

"Let's get out of here." The slytherin said.

"Are you mad? We can't apparate into hornburg, how would we ex-"

"Not into hornburg, but definitely out of here." He said, using one arrow as a dagger to hit one orc who had managed to climb the platform, only to retrieve it, oblivious to the dying creature fallen on his feet, and load that same arrow against the ones climbing a stair to the section the renegades were at. Arien shot at the ropes keeping the stair in position and it fell with great noise.

"We can make it to the caves." He cried in antarian –they did not know if the orcs could understand elfish, but they certainly could understand Westron –and no antarian would willingly use sindarin rather than their own tongue. Arien shuddered.

"Like hell I'm going to the caves! I had enough of that in Moria!"

"Fuck, for a moment I forgot you were claustrophobic."

It was a testament of how upset he was that he was swearing. But then again, he had been for the last ten minutes.

"Let's go to the peak of the mountains. We can have a better view from there, and deci-"

"Fine. Go!" Damon cut, and Arien knew he was ordering it because they had no much more time. They bent down in order to block themselves from the orcs' sight, and apparated.

From the peak of the Southern Mountains they had a better view of what was going on, and no orc would be capable of spotting them. It was terrible. They had, God knows how, managed to destroy almost  half of Saruman's forces, but the remnants were more than enough to take over Helm's deep, regardless of its fame.

There was no way in hell they could win against them. Not without extensive use of magic, that is.

It was four in the morning. Dawn would come in two hours, at most. But then what? The amount of Uruk-Hai there was enough to take the stronghold.

Arien was brought from her reverie by an acute and extremely annoyingly fierce pain on her right hand – her wand hand. "Ouch!" she cried, clutching her right arm in a vain attempt of blocking the pain. Her fingers assumed a claw-like position, the nerves sending chaotic messages to her overworn muscles.

"Now what?" Damon spat, looking very dangerous under his thick eyelashes.

"Cramps. My arms hurt." She whined. Damon swore a bit more, but took her right arm in his, and proceeded to untie her arm protections so he could massage her forearm with some efficiency. A good fifteen minutes later her muscles were more relaxed, and her groans of pain had become less frequent. From the top of the mountain they could still see the torches of the orcs dimly illuminating the Tower, and the position of the stars in the sky telling them dawn would not be long.

"What do we do now?" she asked, when her aching nerves had been somewhat dulled.

"How should I know? I'd asked you that before you went writhing in pain." Arien glared at him in a way that would make Snape cry with bursting pride over his most – or shall we say only –beloved pupil (in more ways than one), but Damon didn't move an inch.

"Damon, kindly go fuck yourself somewhere where you don't bother me with your foul mood. I'm trying to be practical here."

The older renegade stared at her with a hatred so deep it succeed in scaring her witless. With a very subtle movement she assured herself her wand was secured safely right were it should be as she held Damon's gaze. Fortunately she found out that she wasn't the source of the feeling, when he started speaking.

"Those frigging bastards left us alone!" he roared, his face becoming a pale tone of red, " I told you they were not to be trusted! But no, perfect lil' Ravenclaw, so smart and everything, just had to get her way on things. We could have simply walked into Mordor and destroyed that fucking ring ourselves; nobody needed to know about it! That bloody hobbit could even take credit over it – I don't care! Instead we get trapped in what must be the very worst battle in Middle-earth ever-"

"If you think this was the worst battle in Middle-earth ever, you obviously haven't had any history classes. Small wonder, given the isolation of the republic." Arien dared to object, but Damon kept going as if he hadn't heard anything of it. He was not himself right now, all cool demeanour and carefully built composure gone, and he didn't even retort to the traditional slytherin verbal attack, he was freaking out in pure Gryffindor style, all righteous indignation.

"And don't you dare defend them or saying it was unimportant, _headmistress, I remember quite well your stories about the war to know that you hated it when your team didn't cover your back!" he yelled, and then his handsome face was suddenly blank. "I wonder why you're being so tolerant this time. Have the years teach you patience, my dear friend?"_

His cruel remarks were a sign he was turning back to slytherin mode – true Malfoy-the-git (B.G. – Before Ginny) style. It should be reassuring, but it wasn't.

"This may not be the greatest battle Middle-earth had ever seen, but it is a very hard battle, Damon. May I remind you, they're outnumbered. Badly. Two stonewalls have fallen, and the third won't hold much longer – you should know that." She said as icily, hoping against hope her stare was a fair reflection of his. Apparently he saw the light of reason, and the muscles on his neck and shoulders relaxed slightly.

"I hate them." He said with passion, although his voice had returned to the cool and even manner of always. "They assume so much, they thought they could leave us alone to die."

"There's no way they could know what we are, Damie." She argumented, her voice a caress. Damon was not, something told her, angry just because of this particular incident, he was angry because of something else, something very important but she couldn't put her finger on it. It would be too easy to scream in frustration but she knew that she had to be calm, and try reason with him. As much as her, he had grown up with stories of fear and horror haunting his steps, but he had never been shown the relativism and singularity of each being. He had been taken away, raised in the security of Antar, yet expecting that an army would come to the republic any day to make a  bloodshed.

She had been forced to face her demons, and live among humans. She had feared them, even as she lived among them, but also loved them. Damon knew only the fear, and the hate.

"This is a war, Damon, and there was no way for them to come rescue us. It would waste too many lives to attempt, and they don't have those lives to spare." She whispered.

"So we are dispensable? Like plastic cups or sacs of garbage?" his eyes gleamed in the dark, and his let hand massaging her right hand tightened its hold.

"We are not. It s just what it is, Damon – an unfortunate incident. You haven't fought any war before this, no matter how proficient you may be in combat, but this is just..." she paused, searching for words he could understand, even when she knew, in the deepth of her heart, that he wouldn't. "Sometimes you must sacrifice some people in order to save the majority. Some times, Damon, you cannot go back to save someone, and it's just the way things are. It doesn't mean you don't like them, and it doesn't mean they have to be angry if they manage to survive on their on. It's just the way things are. " She repeated, shrugging her shoulders and feeling a complete idiot under his stare. Every now and again her pupils would show her how utterly naive and inexperienced she is.

"That's it? That's the way things – that's the way things are, and sorry buddy, we really appreciate all you've done, but we can't save your sorry ---"

"Dawning. We'll be visible as soon as the sun rises." She cut him.

"I'll make a favour to those orcs down there and explode the fucking hornburg!" Damon cried, as the sky began showing the first signs of purple and pale pink. "That would teach the bastards a thing of how things just are."

"We came here under strict order from the Queen to help the free people of Middle-Earth before Sauron got too strong, and that is exactly what we will do." She hissed, yanking her arm free from his grasp and clasping her metal arm protection back on. "We will do exactly as the Council told us to, and if you have a problem with that you will report back to Antar right now, lad." She said, vaguely aware that calling Damon a 'lad' was downright ridiculous. "I don't need a partner that freaks out over his own problems. You apparate back in Aryan, and I'll go on with the mission alone."

"Me, freaking out?" he said incredulously.

"You_, freaking out_. This is your perfect window of opportunity, Damie –you go home, and I tell them you got splinted by orcs protecting me as I retreated."

"That wouldn't work." He said emotionlessly.

"Why ever not?"

"Elves don't run away when their comrades fall, that's something they just don't do."

"Then you just died, period, and I didn't, for whatever reason. Good luck to the guy who'll try to find your corpse." Arien retorted angrily.

"I will stay, and we will proceed as planned."

"Then you better get a grip, Damon." She snapped, but then gave up –the slytherin could be pushed only so far, and she had no intention of dealing with what would happen when he exploded. Time to change the line of work. "I _need_ you, Damon, but I need you _in control_."

His gaze had an odd glint in, but his voice was once again warm, and his arms wrapped themselves around her as the sun bathed them in golden glory. "Of course, my dear."

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Aragorn had taken a group of his most reckless, brave men –and elf– available to go to the rescue of their new acquaintances, but ill luck, there was not a trace of them when they finally managed to reach the platform. An absurdly high amount of dead orcs all around testified that whatever they did, they made sure to take a great deal of the orcs to hell before.

And no corpse was in sight, but whether that news was good news was yet to be known.

And come to think of it, how did they get so many arrows?

He returned to the tower of hornburg, after Legolas grimly pointed that there was no point in searching for Gandalf's friends. They were neither in the platform, nor in the stone stairs, nor anywhere around. It had been difficult enough to tell him Gimli was –hopefully – in the glittering caves with Éomer. His whole body ached but he could not relax, there were preparations to make, the door to reinforce, men to encourage, vigils to watch.

_"Wait for me in the first light of the fifth day. At dawn, look east." _Gandalf has said. This was the fifth day, and the sun was coming up anytime now.

"Bring us the king!" cried the Uruk-Hai.

"The king comes and goes as he wishes." Said Aragorn.

"So what are you doing here?" they mocked, laughing. "Do you want to see how great our army is? We are the fighting Uruk-Hai."

"I'm looking out to see the dawn." He replied simply.

"What about the dawn? We are the fighting Uruk-Hai, we don't stop the battle day or night, good weather or rain. We are the fighting Uruk-Hai!"

"Nobody knows what the new day brings. Go away, or else you shall regret it."

He was clad in power and majesty, and some of the men stopped in awe. But the orcs laughed harder, and shot several arrows just as Aragorn jumped down the wall back inside the tower.

And the orcs forced the doors of hornburg open with some more explosive, as Aragorn ran back to the tower, and the remaining rohirrim hurriedly assumed a defensive line around the king. Horse masters that they were, they were already on their horses, ready to face the enemy.

And then several voices were heard in the air, and the horn sounded strong in the valley. Some of the orcs threw themselves to the ground.

And they found that they were trapped between the riders of hornburg, some very suspicious-looking trees and the riders of Erkebrand – he was not dead, and Gandalf had gathered all the forces that had been scattered.

Dawn had come.

The king rode forth with Aragorn and his rohirrim knights, and the two armies closed upon the orcs and barbarians. In the great gate of the dam they met, and moved towards the forest. Gandalf appeared from the trees, forcing the orcs to run. But from the trees none walked away alive.

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And then from the dam those who had sought shelter in the caves came out, and pleasantries were exchanged, they were all happy on seeing one another alive. Gimli had his head bandaged.

"Once again you come in the hour of need, unexpected guest!" said Éomer. 

"Unexpected? But I said I would go back to meet you here."

"But you told not the time, nor the way." Said Arien, jumping down from one of the trees. Her companion appeared right after her.

"And you brought us a strange help. You are a mighty wizard, Gandalf!" whispered Éomer.

"That's possible," conceded Gandalf. "But this has nothing to do with magic – all I did was giving good advise in a dark time, and use the speed of Shadowfax. The rest is due to your own valour, and the legs of the westfold men, who marched all night."

The men looked at the forest with amazement, and seeing that Gandalf laughed. "The trees? That's not my magic; this is an ancient power in action. This happening turned out better than my scheming, and even better than my hopes." Said Gandalf.

"If it is not your doing, who's doing it is? Not Saruman, that is clear. Is there another wizard we know not of?" asked Theoden.

_The renegades exchanged a brief mischievous glance. Buddy, you have NO idea._

"This is not magic, but rather a very ancient power. And now I must head to Isengard. There are a few things I must sort out."

And the king went with Gandalf to plan the trip to Isengard. The unwounded were sent to collect the wounded and bury the dead. And a group of twenty were sent to get some rest before the riding –they would accompany the king and the White Knight to Orthanc, Saruman's Tower and stronghold. But Gandalf had said they were 'going to talk, not break in.'

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They worked hard healing the wounded, even when that was a very difficult job for lack of provisions. Arien had lectured Damon three times to get out of the fucking way if he was not going to help. He did help, but wasn't glad about it.

"You!" Arien called a young lad who couldn't be any older than fourteen, "Go fetch me some water. Hurry! And you," she commanded another," go get as much clean fabric you can find."

"Yes, milady." The lads said, and broke in a run.

"Good grace, this just never ends." She whispered. Not fifteen minutes ago she had held a boy till he died, crying for his mother. Damon tried, half-heartedly, to make her see the need of attending those who had a chance, but she had raised her face and dared him to continue. 'You go,' she had said, and rocked the child till he stopped breathing.

But then there was a man with a sword wound on his side that required her immediate attention.

'And it's not as if I'm that good a healer either. If at least I could have a mediwizard here…' 

Not ten feet away from them Aragorn was tending Gimli's head injury. Fortunately the helm absorbed most of the impact – not to mention the hard skull of dwarves… - but even so, a blow in your head is always dangerous. Gimli would agree, if anyone else had been hurt like that, but he had been the victim, and for some reason he just wouldn't admit weakness in front of the elves. He even insisted on going to Orthanc with them.

At dusk the committee set out to Isengard, but actually passing the trees was somewhat of a delicate matter. Gandalf took the lead, and they rode through it. The light was fading quickly, and even the mortals felt the trees murmuring in hatred.

Nobody saw a single orc from the thousands who had run into the forest.

They rode on in silence, and Legolas would have stopped many times, if not for Gimli whining and Gandalf urging him on.

"These are the strangest trees I've ever seen, and I've seen many oaks from the time they were nuts to the time they rottened. I wish I had time to walk among them."

"NO! Leave them. I know what they think, they hate all that moves around in legs, and speak of suffocate and scratch."

"Not all that moves in two legs, Gimli. It's the orcs they hate."

"What happened to you," Aragorn slipped a little back in the line to be close to the renegades. "We made a searching party but couldn't find you anywhere."

"I see, "answered Damon blankly.

**'_Get a fucking grip, Damie!'_

"We ran. I know it doesn't sound very good, and I doubt anyone could make a lay out of it, but we figured we'd be more useful alive. So we retreated and escaped to the mountains.  Then we saw Gandalf coming from up there and joined him."

No one of elven heritance could miss Aragorn's sigh of relief.

**_'See? He was worried about us.'_

_**'Don't push your luck.'_

"I am glad," Aragorn said with feeling, even if his voice was still low. "We were worried for a moment."

"--Strange are the ways of Men, Legolas! Here they have one of the wonders of the Northern world, and what do they call it? Caves to take refuge in times of war! My good Legolas, did you know the caves of Helm are large and beautiful? There would be a pilgrimage of dwarves just to appreciate them, if they were known. In fact, they'd pay gold for a glance."

Arien shifted uncomfortable in her saddle.

"And I would give gold not to visit them!" said Legolas, "and I'd pay the double to leave, if I got lost in there."

_'An elf after my own heart.'_

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A.N: **Lia:** wow! You're the first one to point that out (apart from my beta Queen). Yes, I have something in store for that particular thing, as well as some other stuff I left hanging in the air in the previous chapters. Arien will know about the love between Aragorn and Arwen, and we'll learn a lot more about the cultural differences yet. I'll say, however, that things will get a bit more complicated… lots of disharmony to come, spiced with some more fighting and a tad of romance. (After all, this IS a romance/Adventure/Action, isn't it?)


	8. Chapter seven: Do not meddle in the affa...

**A.N.:** I am mixing the movie and the books (this is fanfiction, and even I can't write that long…. We would get nowhere. So bear with me, please?)

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**Chapter seven: _Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards..._**

**_"A very honest woman, but something given to lie" Antony and Cleopatra, , Shakespeare. _**

****

_@ Orthanc, Isengard. March 5th of 3019._

__

The company rode almost all night; stopping only for the king's few hours' rest. When they arrived in Isengard, a desolated picture was presented: the great tunnels broken, the wide, majestic circular patio flooded. Gigantic rocks were thrown here and there where they'd make the greatest harm, in a wicked decoration that could not possibly have been intended by the Lord of that tower.

The sun was high in the sky, and vapour rose from the caves and underground passages that had been filled with water from the Anduin. The high tower was under siege with the water and the ever-watchful ents.

The committee passed the gates, and they saw two tiny figures laying on the raw rock – children, or very small men; clad in grey and smoking pipes after – apparently, as there were remnants of food and drink there – a lunch. But before they could ask anything one of the children stood up.

"Welcome, my lords, to Isengard. We are the gatekeepers. I am Meriadoc, son of Saradoc; and my companion, who unfortunately is worn with toil" – Merry kicked Pippin's shin at that –"Is Peregrin, son of Paladin, of the House of Tûk. Our house lies there in the north. Lord Saruman is locked with some Wormtongue, otherwise he'd come to receive such honourable guests."

Damon turned to Legolas and Gimli, who were riding together on his left, and asked, "Weren't they those halflings you were seeking?" Legolas nodded slightly, because Gimli was fuming so that he couldn't answer anything. That was when Gandalf laughed hard and got everyone's attention.

"No doubt he'd be. And did Saruman ask for you to watch the gate, when you could turn your gaze from food and drink?"

"No, milord, he forgot that" answered Merry seriously.

"What about your companions? What about Legolas and I?" Gimli finally managed to speak, insulting the little hobbits for the next ten generations. His cussing succeeded on waking Pippin, as the dwarf was hell bent on making them feel guilty. Legolas put some more fuel to the fire asking how they managed to get wine.

Theoden laughed, the knights teased them, and elf, dwarf and dunadan proceeded to share stories and ask questions to one another. In the midst of the euphoria, nobody noticed the renegades were no longer there.

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"Damie, now what?" Arien asked when they apparated at the tower's roof.

"Nothing bad. Just that this is a golden opportunity to inspect this wizard's lair." He answered, drawing his wand out of his pocket. It was willow,15" and had a core of unicorn hair. Most of the wands Arien made had a core like that.

Her own was phoenix feather, 13 inches and made of cedar. An exceptionally light cedar. "I'm not really sure of this, Damie." She said, looking around. The roof was a plain platform, with a few columns born from the base of the tower that grew a couple meters higher than the tower itself, rising like the claws of a panther. The ground was a good two miles below them. "We do not know the ways of these Istari, nor how powerful they really are."

"Saruman is not a match for both of us," Damon said with absolute conviction.

From up there they could see their committee had split –Theoden, his men and Gandalf had gone to talk with Treebeard, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli were talking with the hobbits. 

"They must have acknowledged our absence." Arien stated.

"I'll think of something. Come, let's not waste time."

"Why are you always getting me into so much trouble?"

Damon didn't even raise an eyebrow.

Oh, Lord, her babies had grown. And she wasn't sure she liked it very much. It was all good and well to dream of having a school like Hogwarts on her own world, have someone to discuss the intricate art of transfiguration and the subtleties of potions, to have experiments on charms and willing people to help her understand better the ways of the stars and how to apply the earthling astronomy on the sky of Middle-Earth, and having those same loving faces helping her surpass herself on the mysteries of Arithmancy and divination – classes she had never been terrific on. 

But apparently she hadn't count on the fact that sooner or later those renegades would grow their wings and fly on their own. she hadn't count on the fact – the mathematical fact – that to them she was still a child, a very talented, prodigiously gifted and unnaturally mature child. _But still a child._

Someone to encourage, to pat on the head and to smile understandingly at. 

And sometimes, someone to tolerate.

Arien sighed, frustrated, this adult life thing was ending up being worse than she had envisioned while on earth, and she suddenly missed the complexity and at the same time the absurd simplicity of that place – and wasn't that an oxymoron???? "Okay. Get your invisibility cloak and don't enter any room until I check if it's warded."

"All right, Enn." He said with a smile, while taking both cloaks from their bags.

He understood her better than she did herself.

Maybe getting a Comyn partner was a mistake. And come to think of it, she began regretting not picking a Gryffindor also ...

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The meeting had been joyful. Filled with storytelling, wine, ale and an excellent 1417 smoke that placated the righteous fury of the dwarf – "Master Meriadoc, now, in fact _I am_ deeply indebted with you!". However, the Fellowship had other matters to deal with, so the five companions walked over where they had last seen Gandalf and the rohirrim. They met halfway in the road that lead to the one door of Orthanc.

The door faced east, and above the door there was a window with railings, and at the upper floors several windows spied out to the world like curious little eyes. Leading to that door was a stair with 27 large steps, carved in the dark stone with the art craft of old.

Gandalf was the first to climb that stair. "I'll go up. I've been in Orthanc before and am aware of the risk I am taking."

"And I, " said Theoden dismounting. "I wish to face the enemy who caused me so much harm. Éomer shall go with me to help me on my weary feet."

"And Aragorn will come with me," said Gandalf after a moment's thought. "the rest of you can listen and see from the stairs, if there is anything to see and listen."

"No!" protested Gimli. "Legolas and I want a closer look. We are the only representatives of our people."

"That's not accurate, Gimli, as there are two others of my kin with us, though I cannot spot them. Where are your friends, Gandalf?" asked Legolas, searching around with his bright azure eyes, then facing the wizard.

"Those two wouldn't pass an opportunity of talking with the ents. They are probably updating them on the latest gossips of their country – they are very close. But as much as they have come to help, this is not a matter for them. Let us go! I have a final duty to perform."

The king's knights formed two lines across the stairs, waiting on their horses – the people of Rohan felt more comfortable on horses than on the ground, one would say. The hobbits were content on seating at the last step and waiting, feeling very small and unimportant.

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Founders Four, Merlin, Morgaine and all famous wizards in the history of magic of earth, but hell, was this tower _high!_ The renegades went down several floors, exploring room after room as quickly as they could.

Kitchens, guest rooms, living rooms, watching rooms... no, not what they were looking for.

Orthanc still held the beauty of the artcraft of the Men of West who made it at the end of the first age. The tower was like a sculpture in dark stone, onyx or obsidian, with delicate patterns of leaves and stars and elegantly curved lines crossing. Here and there they saw the torch supports, but no fire was lighted – the light was artificial and came from nowhere and from everywhere, making the shadows extremely hard to see. The stairs did not move at will, for it was a work of men, but they were very elegant and very solid.

And very, very long.

"We should find the place he keeps his records in." said Damon, taking wizarding photographs of the firs thing they found worth of inspecting – a rather large potion lab. "He must have a library _somewhere."_

"I do not recognise any of these." The Ravenclaw whispered.

"Well, you can't expect to know everything."

It took most of her will power not to reply to that. And it hurt most that he wasn't teasing her, it was his honest opinion.

So, after all her hard work, all she had taught them they thought she was useless... a token, a memory of past glory and knowledge.

Should she say she hadn't them shown everything?

No. They'd probably guessed it by now anyway ... no need to boast. '_Save it for a rainy day...'_

"Come. We must find that library." she said, opening carefully the door of the lab and looking both ways before leaving and quickly sneaking into the next room. And the next.

In all their way, silence was absolute. The odd thing was, very few of the rooms were warded, and even those not heavily. It was as if Saruman was trusting the structure of the building and his own name to keep any eavesdropping individual at bay. The renegades met only two servants and a few orcs here and there – apparently all Isengard had been emptied in the attack to Helm's Deep. They found the library on the seventh floor, after inspecting another fifteen.

"Now what are we looking at?" asked Arien, glancing the shelves that went from the floor to the ceiling. They'd need hours to find anything in there –but they did not have hours.

"The most recent records we can find, I guess." Damon answered matter-of-factly. They both started scanning the parchments over a large table in the middle of the room, and then proceeded to check the closer shelves methodically.

"Look at this," Arien cleared her throat. "Orthanc, Isengard; February 14th of 22851. Records of the first meeting of the White Council. Attended The Five Wizards, as known – Curunir, Mithrandir, Ellothir, Cerondir and Radagast -, The Lord Celeborn and his Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, and Lord Elrond half-elven from Rivendell..."

"Lord what?" asked Damon sceptically.

"That's how it is. Now that I think about it, mom did tell me about him—"

"Why on god's green Middle-earth haven't you told me before?"

"Thinking on changing sides, Damon?" asked Arien with a malicious glint in her eyes. Damon turned at her with a face so cold and forbidding she regretted the comment instantly – good thing that anger wasn't directed at her...

"That blasted Traitor! How could he sell himself to ... to _them?!?"_

"Long story. I don't even think he knows about us. It's a long, celebrated tale here on middle-earth ... haven't you ever heard of Lúthien and Beren?"

"Luthien who?"

"_Lúthien_. Daughter of Melian the maia and Thingol of Doriath, challenged the family AND Melkor to marry a mortal, Beren. Thingol told him he'd only wed Luthien if he got a silmaril from Melkor's crown –which is virtual suicide, as you may know. He got caught, she escaped her palace to go after him. Legend says she took put Melkor to sleep with enchantments, and she destroyed Melkor's tower down with a song of power, and even touched Mandos – who is known for being a cold-hearted bastard, into 'turning' her mortal _and_ allowing Beren a second life on earth –"

"The short version, please. We are running out of time!" Damon said, but kindly.

Arien pocketed the parchments hurriedly, and continued her tale. "Well, anyway. Elrond is grandchildren to them, and son of Eärendil –but that's another long tale. Elves sing songs about them in their feasts, they praise his ancestors in their meetings. It would be extremely questionable for them to reject him. There was a fuss over something they'd called The Choice – and , once again, legend says his brother Elros chose to be mortal, as Elrond chose immortality. And so goes the tale. Well, that's what mom told me anyway."

"And how come your mother knows so much about those things?" Damon questioned in his silky voice – a sure sign of trouble lying ahead. Damn slytherin curiosity!

"That's none of your business." She said crossly. "Keep looking." It was strangely satisfying to have a renegade older than your mother obeying you. Moved by a weird curiosity, she pulled the parchment off her pockets and resumed her skimming.

"Dol Guldur.... bullshit, bullshit... Sauron raising from the dead and threatening all free people of Middle-Earth, nothing new here. Ah, here! Comments of the members of the council. This Radagast guy seems nice, if a bit too passive. Mithrandir is what we know. Listen to this –"

"Arien!" Damon hissed, buried in parchments. "make yourself useful!"

The door was opened with surprising speed on a building that old, and a familiar sickly pale figured entered –to freeze when he saw who was inside. "What are you doing here? Graloshk! Invaders!" Damon quick as lighting threw his daggers at the man, and Wormtongue fell dead without another word. A group of five orcs entered the library, regardless to the impossibility of taking down two – to them – elves highly proficient in combat. Books fell from the shelves as the corpses were thrown, already dead.

"We have no more time. Reduce those files and take them –we'll read them all when we have some time to spare at Edoras!" Damon said, crossed because they had been caught off guard. It should never happen, much less with them being renegades and invading the den of a wizard. A quick silencing spell and some locking charms allowed them some privacy.

Through the window they could see six people in the stairs before the door. Saruman was nowhere to be seen.

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Theoran had one thought only, oblivious to the fact that thought was plaguing all ten knights waiting by the stairs : "He will betray us. They will go up and discuss questions above the understanding of men, as we stay here to be punished or dismissed, as they will. That's the end of it – we are doomed. Gandalf will betray us."

Saruman had used his enchanting voice on one of them at a time, at first trying to convince Theoden. The king stood firm and passed the test, if a bit shakily; but then again he had lost many people in the hands of Saruman. Now it was different, Saruman had turned his attention to Gandalf, and so powerful was the enchantment no one could resist it – his words seemed so wise, so reasonable, one wanted to do as he was told without questioning, just to look as wise as that voice sounded.

Saruman had said Gandalf misunderstood him. And after a moment's silence, Gandalf laughed. And the spell was broken.

"Saruman, Saruman! You missed your calling, you should have been the king's joker, and made your living so! Alas!" he turned serious, "I understood you well enough last time I was here. I won't go up. But listen, won't you come down? You can go unharmed and free."

"Free? That sounds very much like you, Gandalf the Grey!" yelled Saruman, almost purple in his rage. "So generous, so condescending! I have no doubt you'd think Orthanc comfortable, and my leaving convenient! Why would I want to leave? And what do you mean free? There are conditions, I suppose?"

"Reasons to leave you can see from your window, and others you can think of later." Replied Gandalf. "and you betrayed your new master, or at least tried to – when he turns his eye to Orthanc, it will be the red eye of fury. But when I say free, I mean free, Saruman, even if you want to go to Mordor. But first you should give me your staff and the keys to Orthanc, as a warrant of your behaviour –to be returned later, if you deserve them."

Saruman laughed now, in hysteria and anger. "Later! Yes, when you are the Lord of Barad-dûr, and hold the staffs of the Five Wizards! If you want to negotiate with me, Gandalf, come back when you are sober! And leave alone those assassins and that mob that hangs on your tail. Good day!" he turned to leave, but couldn't, because Gandalf gave him an order.

"Come back, Saruman!"

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"Ouch!" said Arien. "IF he does what I think he will, it will make things easier for us."

On the ground, Gandalf was yelling "Saruman, your staff is broken. Go!"

"If he wasn't so devilishly cunning, we might let him live." Said Arien, watching the Lord of Orthanc retreating to the tower with his tail between his legs.

"We could obliviate him." Offered Damon, making Arien feel very small then. That trip was supposed to bring them closer, instead of making them fall apart. But it seemed nothing she did or said was good enough for the slytherin, and vice-versa.

"And where would he go? What would he think when people rejected, insulted and even lynched him and he didn't even know why?"

"So we kill him out of the goodness of our hearts?"

"Cruel only to be kind."

"if it's easier for you to think so..."

"He's a fucking dark wizard, Damie! What do you expect me to do, invite him for tea?" she hissed, standing up quickly to inspect the rest of the files before she faced the wizard –and that would be the last day of life to Saruman, if she had anything to say about it, and may god have mercy of _anyone who stood on her way._

Something she learned on earth : don't let a dark wizard walk out to plan revenge. 

Damon grabbed her arm softly, a gesture he hadn't done since they left Aryan. "I'm sorry."

"Come again?" she spoke smugly, unable to wipe the self-satisfied expression out of her face.

"Don't make me repeat it, Arien." He said with a small grin. Then his face turned more serious. "I don't like us fighting like this."

_'It is a very rare thing to see a slytherin without his armour'_, thought Arien. His honesty was touching, more so for the fact his emotions were always so tightly shut (except when he was upset, perhaps). In spite of herself she felt her heart melting, and gave him a tentative smile.

"I'm sorry too. I—" she was interrupted by another orc ( good grace, do these things ever stop coming?), but Damon had his knives drawn and cut his chest before she could even decide if she should use her blades or her wand. 

The body of the orc hit a small table near the window, and a dark crystal ball slip from it falling outside the tower.

**'_dammit.'_

**'_ I think I'm out of practice.... we were caught off guard twice! better get your wand, Damie, just in case. I'll look for Saruman, but if you don't want to—'_

_**'I'll go with you.'_

_**'Thank you.'_

Saruman entered the room hurriedly. And screamed.

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"No, that was not thrown by Saruman. It fell from a higher window. A good-bye gift from Wormtongue, I guess, but he has poor aim." Said Gandalf, impassive.

"His aim was poor, perhaps because he couldn't decide who he hated more, you or Saruman." Said Aragorn, and Pippin ran to catch the globe before it hit a pool and sank.

"Here, boy." The wizard took the globe from the hobbit. "This'll stay with me."

"But he could have other things to throw!" said Gimli. "If that is all, let us leave his range."

"It is," said Gandalf philosophically. "It is." The six of them turned their backs to the tower and descended the stair, as the knights cheered his king and applauded. "It is done," said Gandalf again, "And now I must find Treebeard and tell him how things turned out."

The company then rode past the ruined tunnels and to the gates, where the ents were gathered. The renegades were there, sitting on the ents branches, talking animatedly and laughing.

The Walkers stared at the ents in wonder.

"Oh, there you are! I told Legolas you'd be with them!" laughed Gandalf.

"Always a pleasure to meet an ent." Damon said with a bow to Fangorn. Brum-rum-rum, he laughed.

"These are three of my companions, Treebeard. I have spoken of them, but you haven't met yet." Gandalf introduced Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas, with their proper titles. The old ent gazed at them and spoke with each, turning to Legolas in the end.

"So you came from Mirkwood, my good elf? It used to be a great wood in the old days."

"It still is," replied Legolas with his deep voice, "But not so great we who live there are tired of seeing new trees. In fact, I am hoping to visit Fangorn when this is all over."

The ent beamed at the elf's words. "I hope you make your wish come true before the hills age much."

"I will go, if I am lucky. Actually, I agreed with a friend to visit the woods, if all goes well –and you grant us permission."

"Any elf that comes with you will be welcome."

**'_traitor!'_

_**'get a grip, Damie. He may be friends with whomever he wishes.'_

"My friend is not an elf. I speak of Gimli son of Glóin."

_**'he knows what happened.'_

_**'he knows more than you and I will ever dream of knowing.'_

Gimli bowed, and his axe slipped from the belt. Fangorn voiced a deep Brum-ram-rum! "Wait a bit! I have good will with you elves, but this is a bit much! Axe-carrier dwarf! We do not like axes!"

"Gimli is a friendly creature and a true companion, master Treebeard! And his axe is only for orcs – he killed forty-two in the battle!"

**'_such an unlikely friendship and hearty devotion. Certainly things changed in time, Damon. Just look at them."_

_**'I'll ask more than an isolated case of good-will to change my mind on those tricky creatures, Arien."_

"Hmm, that is better! But things shall go as they must go, and we must not hurry them. Nevertheless, Gandalf says you must leave before dusk." Fangorn said. "And I must say good-bye to my friends. We became so close in so short a time that I may be getting hasty as well. But they were the first new things I saw on this lands in a very long time... keep your eyes open and give me news if you have any – you know what I mean, words or news from the entwives! Come yourselves!"

"We will!" the hobbits said.

"Keep watch on Saruman!" Gandalf ordered to Fangorn. "The water is going down through some exit in the caves. Pour the Anduin here again, and again, until Isengard is a perennial lake – he must not escape!"

'_he will not, my good Gandalf. He will not.'_

Farewells were given hurriedly and soon the company was riding again.

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It was a long ride, crossing the Wizard's Valley and approaching the Southern Mountains again. They stopped after midnight, and the watches were sorted. Arien got the first watch with Eodred, captain of Rohan; the second would be Legolas and Aragorn; and the third Damon and Éomer. the first two hours passed with no novelty, the sky was bright and clear, the night was warm and the camping was silent.

Arien used her Comyn ability twice, scanning the surroundings of the camp –not a soul. Even the wolves were far away. And Eodred was great company – serious but courteous, a simple man with simple words, simple mind and simple life. They spoke at length of Rohan and Eodred's family –he had a brother and a sister, and was engaged with a nice lady in Edoras. His family lived out of shepherds and wheat, and they had a nice enough farm near the west fold.

"And how long has Wormtongue poisoned the king? Certainly someone noticed it?"

"We all have, I guess – may god have mercy on us." Eodred confessed. "But he was still the king, and who would defy him? Theodred tried, and Éomer too – and Theodred was killed in an ambush and Éomer was sent to jail for being loyal. Thing were dark in Meduseld, milady."

"I believe so. But no matter how much I'd like to talk to you, you should get some rest. Let's get the other watchers, shall we?"

Eodred gave her a tired grateful smile in return. He _was really tired –the whole day spent in anticipation, long rides and little food. A nap would do wonders to him. _

They stood up to go after the others, and Eodred cast a wondering glance on her. Not too far from them the Walkers laid together, wrapped in their elfish cloaks.

Aragorn was sleeping soundly, the sleep of those who are bone-weary and know they won't have much time to rest anyway – the way a soldier sleeps. His hair was all messy and tangled, and he held an eternal four-days beard.

She **hated** when Sirius let his beard grow.

****

"Could you?" she mouthed at her vigil companion, while nodding in the general direction of Aragorn. Silently she made her way to the elf, who –she was sure of that as she was sure her name was Arien – had been awake for some time. Being this close to one another, he would have heard her approach as well, but she could always claim she wasn't bothering about being silent, she had come to wake him up for crissake. 

Eodred surrounded the sleeping figure to reach Aragorn, who was laying on the left. Gimli laid in the middle, snoring every now and then, and Legolas rested on the right, laying on his side and his arms pillowing the fair head.

_'He looks so innocent. Anyone who hadn't seen him at Helm's Deep would think he's an angel sent from God._' Arien thought, crouching beside him. His breath made nearly no movement on his chest. He was lean, rather as a panther than like a skinny man.

His eyes were dark blue- darker than hers, most the time one would think they were black. High cheekbones, elegant eyebrows and to-die-for eyelashes, that was a face she wouldn't mind ogling for centuries. 

He was a work of art.

_'Ah, my old days on earth... I wouldn't have passed you up, my friend.'_

In fact, the elf before her was making her have rather improper thoughts.

"We both know you are awake, Master Legolas. I'm not doing your turn of the watch just because you pretend to be asleep." She said in Sindarin as his eyes immediately lost their misty quality and returned to the usual brightness.

He didn't even have the grace of looking chastised. He even gave a little smile.

"You can't blame me for keeping your lovely company as long as I could, now can you?" he teased.

_'By the sea and the stars! What the fucking hell does he think he's doing? The day before he treated me as if I was a nuclear bomb on his keeping, and now he's teasing me! If I didn't know elves are as pure and chaste as nuns I'd even say he's flirting. Well, perhaps some of them are NOT THAT pure and chaste because of us, but nevertheless—'_

"I won't blame you for that, but I won't take your turn either. Get up, Master Legolas, 'tis your turn to watch—"

her speech was interrupted by a terrified scream. 

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Every being in the camp was now surrounding the little hobbit, Gandalf worrying over him and the others watching in circle.

"It seems like he was hit by a spell." Arien whispered. Legolas narrowed his eyes to her, but she couldn't see it because he was behind her.

"THIS IS NOT FOR YOU, SARUMAN! I'LL SEND FOR HIM IMMEDIATELY!" the hobbit yelled.

"Peregrin Tuk! Said Gandalf, "Come back!"

**'_come with me now.'_ Damie commanded. The Ravenclaw promptly obliged and walked to the borders of the camp, where they started to discuss what could possibly have done that to the hobbit. Gandalf in his turn took more practical measures, interrogating Pippin thoroughly.

_'There are only two known elves who had a hair such as that, Cirdan of the Grey havens and Aredhel of the Noldor. From where these two may be? And why don't they speak in sindarin among themselves?' _mused Legolas.

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"We have been too sure of ourselves," Gandalf sighed, having finished his interrogation. "Isengard is not safe neighbourhood for us now. I shall go ahead with Pippin, this will do him better than laying in the dark while others sleep."

"I shall stay with Éomer and my knights. We ride with the dawn. The rest may go with Aragorn and leave as they wish." Said Theoden.

"As you wish. But do with the greatest speed to the shelter of Helm's deep or to the temple in the hills."

While Gandalf replied, a black shadow crossed the sky clouding the light of the stars as it went.

"Nazgûl! Storm is coming – the Nazgûl have crossed the river! Ride, ride –do not wait for the dawn! Do not wait for anything!" Gandalf cried, running to Shadowfax, Aragorn went after him, and helped Pippin onto the saddle, and rode away like the north wind blowing.

"Shouldn't we follow them?" asked Damon to his friend in their native tongue. The king's men were undoing their tents and readying the horses, Aragorn ran back to his – borrowed – Hasufel, ordering Merry to go get his things and whatever Pippin may have forgotten.

Merry returned from the camping with only one small packing – he had lost his backpack at Parth Galen – to find everyone else ready and mounting. 

"Four members of the fellowship we have left here. Let's keep going together. But not alone, as I had thought, the king wants to go to the Temple in the Hills immediately." Said Aragorn.

"And then to where?" asked Legolas.

"I cannot tell. The king shall go to the army gathering he ordered at Edoras, in four nights. Then the riders of Rohan will have news from the war and go down to Minas Tirith, I think. Except me and whoever wants to follow me."

"Count on me!" cried Legolas, "And me!" said the dwarf. Arien cast a glance on Damon, whom gave her a slight nod. But apparently, he wouldn't talk –whether it was because he wanted her to be more at ease with Aragorn or because he had little wish of speaking with outsiders, she could not tell.

"We will go with you, if you shall let us." Arien declared, speaking for them both. Aragorn nodded.

"As for me, everything around me is darkness. I too shall go to Minas Tirith, but I cannot see the road now.

They hadn't ridden much before one of the scouts went to the king and warned they were being followed. Immediately the king ordered a halt, and they waited for the riders' approach. They were few, no more than twenty. Before they got closer than a mile distant, Éomer yelled. "Halt, halt! Who rides in Rohan?"

A single rider dismounted and walked towards them, his palm held out in a peace gesture. When he thought he'd gotten close enough, he stopped and said "Rohan? You said Rohan? We've been looking for this land. I'm Halbarad Dunadan, a ranger from the north. We are looking for Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and we heard he was here in Rohan."

"And you have found him!" Aragorn cried, jumping to the ground in one swift motion, the reigns tucked in Merry's hands. "from all joys, this is the least expected!"

"It is all right," said Aragorn. "These are some of my relatives, from the distant lives I lived in. But how many, and why they came, Halbarad has to tell us."

"I have thirty with me, who have answered the calling. And Elladan and Elrohir ride with us, as they wanted to go war."

And the company resumed their ride.

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_@ Helm's deep valley, March 6th, 3019._

Merry had been made a knight for Rohan. The ceremony, however simple, was touching –it was crystal clear that hobbit and king loved one another already. In the meal after his initiation, Merry entertained Theoden with what tales he could of the Shire. It was a lovely break of all toil and sorrow.

Damon watched intently the conversation between Aragorn and Theoden. The dunedain looked rather grey and tired, and told the rohirrim very grimly that his road should go another way. "Pity, Aragorn my friend," said Éomer. "I hoped we could ride together to the war."

"I shall take the Paths of Dead. But I tell you we may meet again in battle, even if all the armies of Mordor are between us." Aragorn replied.

"Do as you must, my lord Aragorn. It is your fate to walk paths others wouldn't dare. This farewell saddens me, and diminishes my strength, but now I must take the roads to the mountains. Fare well!"

"Fare well, my lord! Ride to fame! Until we met again, Merry! I leave you now in good hands, better than we hoped when we hunted orcs in Fangorn. Legolas and Gimli shall hunt with us, I hope, but we won't forget you."

"Goodbye!" cried Merry, and could not think of anything else to say, because leaving his friends was a terrible burden to him. But he was now a sworn knight of Rohan, and his King needed him. With those words the king called his troops, and the riders galloped to the mountains.

"There go three beings I love, and the smaller of 'em no less." Sighed Aragorn.

"A people of little stature, but great valour. " his relative stated.

"And our fates are intertwined. But now, unfortunately, we have to part. Come now, Legolas, Gimli! I must speak with you as I eat."

They went then inside the hornburg, and took what time they had in their meal and talk.

And as they did, the renegades stood behind with the dunedain.

"Halbarad." Arien called, when it became obvious that Damon wouldn't say a word that day, and probably not in many days to come. Every now and again he would flash her a meaningful smile, but kept his distance – from her as well as from anyone else. It was unnerving, really, to see how he had retreated himself after their encounter with Saruman. They had exchanged few words, most of them when Pippin was jinxed, and his mind was closed to her. "Come here please. Tell me what news you can give me from the war."

Halbarad apparently had no reason to doubt they were 100% elven. With an easy smile – even if it was a tired one – he approached the Ravenclaw in his palomino, dismounting before her and paying all the attention a travelled man with good will should pay to an elven lady.

"The Lady Galadriel sent word for us to Rivendell saying Aragorn needed us and that we would find him in Rohan. From there Elladan and Elrohir went off to meet us in our hidden city in Eriador, where we gathered what men we could in the time we were given." Halbarad said straightforwardly. "What of you?" he added as an afterthought.

_'Sorry, pal, but you can't fool me'_ Arien thought, hiding a smile. **'_Damon, get yourself here right now.'_

"No one called us, if that's what you want to know."

**'_ I don't want to interact. Leave me be, woman.'_

"How did you know of the war? And how did you know how to find Aragorn?"

She knew the man was hardened by much toil and wouldn't be softened by her charms. It's just that a little display of innocence may come in handy. "We knew of the war because it came to our doors. We have lived in happy isolation for many years –too many years, I might add." There she paused, deciding what to reveal next. "Our Queen gave us orders to go find out what was threatening the balance of power in Middle-earth and do whatever it was in our power to destroy it – and here we are. We never meant to find Lord Aragorn, in fact we were searching for someone else."

"For whom, milady?"

"We were searching for Gandalf." Arien said with lying shamelessly. "And Gandalf we found. Aragorn just came with the package." She smiled again. The dunedain offered a simple smile.

All dunedain looked alike, as family they were. Tall, exceedingly so, none smaller than five feet ten; with rough faces worn by hard work and little joy, and yet they were kind in their words, when decided to give them.

"Why are you so troubled?" Arien asked frankly, sensing he was an honest person who'd prefer an honest approach. It was tiresome really, to mold herself according to the ones she was dealing with: always seizing, always analysing, always searching for the right approach with those different people, seldom able to be herself. Long gone were the days when she could sit with Ginny after a training session and speak her mind freely, or jest with her friends from Ravenclaw without having to plan her words. Even in Aryan she always had to put out a tough façade, remember her pupils she had taken care of herself alone in a very dangerous world and they needed not to treat her like a porcelain doll.

Even if it would be easier to let them lead her, Arien could not let go of the independence she had acquired. She couldn't imagine a life where others ordered her around.

"All this age has my people struggled with the powers of the Dark Lord, wandering in the forgotten paths, watching for the peace in middle-earth. And now Sauron is readying his final strike. If we should fail..." he whispered, his face turning to the east with an expression of suffering.

It was really a thing to see a man who spent all his life on the fighting to open his heart like that. And she had the insight that a compassionate retort would offend him beyond words –males were just like that sometimes. So she turned to rough-to-be-kind mode, and said impatiently. "We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we'll not fail."

"Do not take our role on this events so lightly, milady." Said Aragorn, who was returning from the fortress with his friends. His tone, however, was kind, and he seemed to understand and appreciate what she had said.

"There's few things dearer to anyone than one's life, Aragorn; and that's not given lightly." She retorted with as much spirit, with one finely arched eyebrow.

Aragorn gave his men a slight nod that meant they were leaving then. He strode a few steps forward and kneeled in front of her so they were eye-level. "I must now travel a road that is not safe, lady Arien. If you must come, you must come willingly; and I won't lie saying I wouldn't feel better if you did not come with us. Perhaps you should reach the king's company –there is still time for that."

Arien tried to look at Damon with a silent plea for help, but the slytherin was nowhere to be seen. _'Typical. I should have brought a hufflepuff!'_ the proximity of that stranger was giving on her nerves, he was way too close to her. And those eyes ... those eyes could see your whole soul if you were not very careful.

"I said I would accompany you, and to that I hold. The darkness has been unleashed, Aragorn;" she tried to reason with him. "And there is not a safe place within Middle-earth. And I cannot go back to my country and tell my Queen that I have turned my backs on danger. I will go where I am most needed, and Theoden has his army at his disposition."

"Your partner no longer needs a guide. We can lead them from now on." Aragorn retorted. "And as you said yourself, all Middle-earth is in danger now. There will be many chances for you to help. You have done what you was sent to."

_'He doesn't need a guide, he needs a baby-sitter. Like hell I'm leaving him alone with you.'_

"You think little of me." She stated, a mix of fury and hurt in her face. After all she had done at Helm's Deep! "Do not judge me as a weakling, Aragorn son of Arathorn, I am no helpless maid screaming for her knight in shining armour. I'd rather have you shooting me than rescuing me if I was endangering the mission. And if you do not allow me in the company, then I'll have to find a shortcut on my own."

And with that she stormed away, hell bent on finding Damon and venting some anger on him. What were friends for anyway?

"Quite the temper our friend has, doesn't she?" said Legolas, returning with his horse to find Aragorn with an even wearier face and Gimli trying to keep his own straight.

"I'm afraid I've offended her in some unforgivable way." He sighed. "But we shall ride to Edoras, and then to the temple on the hills – there I will be able to speak my mind on this matters. What do you think of it, Legolas? What should I do with an elf-lady with that temper?"

"I never knew a nessi with a temper like that. But then again, she is too young yet." Legolas said, pensive. "If our friend there is a true naurgwenn [1], I doubt not she would find her way."

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_@ Ered Nimrais (Southern Mountains), Temple in the Hills, Rohan. March 7th of 3019._

Damon never knew how lucky he had been until the company resumed their ride southwards. 

They rode all the previous day and all of that day too, with only a few rest pauses for the men to get a nap and eat something. Never for more than one hour and a half. And all the time, he kept his distance from everyone, trying desperately to digest the past events and knowing something had changed forever. But even from his cool detachment, he could see that something had greatly distressed Arien. His partner hasn't joked with any of the men in the company as she had done when they rode with the rohirrim. She had not tried to contact him or speak with him in any way – or with anyone else. The only thing she had said to him in twenty four hours was '_don't forget we have those papers to read when we reach the temple.'_

They arrived in the temple with the dusk. And only there Damon learned what was eating Arien – the idiotic human had asked her to stay behind! Of all the impossible things...

_If only he knew..._

The slytherin could sense her fury like a white-hot wave flooding the whole room. Even some of the people who were not comyn could sense it, albeit Arien kept a mask of cool serenity – the girl was learning how to keep her face unreadable yet, but every now and then she could make it like an expert.

If only her fury was not so deep.

'_don't forget we have those papers to read when we reach the temple.'_ As if he could.

Still thinking of Saruman and Sauron and the people around him, he paid no attention to the little drama unfolding before his eyes. Aragorn told Lady Eowyn everything that happened at Helm's deep, and the Lady's gaze flied from the dunedain, to the renegades, to the Lords of Rivendell(but she kept it mainly at Aragorn).

Deciding that this mortal's affair was too unimportant to the overall picture of things, Damon asked Arien to walk with him outside as soon as the lady stood up from their table. She and Aragorn were discussing about the wisdom of taking the paths of dead – Damon never heard of the place before, but apparently the mortals had real terror of it. It was of little importance. He had a meeting with the records of a certain white council.

Maybe they could find some sort of answer in them.

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They were talking on her room, because she had one for herself, being female –complete with a minute bathroom Arien had used straight away. There wasn't much space on the room itself neither, but it was private –more so than on the camping with the whole dunedain coming and going all the time.

"In few words, Saruman was already on Sauron's pockets by the year 2851 when they first held a meeting –either that, or he was looking for the ring himself, and thought that he could get it if Sauron was left alone—" Arien looked up from her parchments and stared at him. "Damon, are you listening to me?"

"I am." he said shortly.

"Okay then. By the year 2941 he changed tactics –he practically forced the council to take an active position against Sauron. I wonder what could have made him feel threatened? –" her voice kept chanting, while Damon observed her. There was a certain beauty in the way she made her conclusions, in the way she grasped tiny details and reconstituted the will behind the actions. In a few thousand years, she would be a force to be reckoned. More than now. He wondered if she would take a partner, but what partner would handle a spouse so strong-willed? Maybe one of the olders... she had said one day that she preferred older guys...

"Sweet god in heaven!" Arien cried. "Look at this."

He grabbed the parchment she handed him, not yellowed like the others, but rather new by comparison. It was the record of some minions reports about the surveillance they were keeping on the shire and on the southern quarter.

"Saruman does not look like a man who would do something without a purpose. What would he want in the shire?" Damon asked.

"It cannot be the Ring, it wasn't found till... oh shit, the ring was found in 2941. Do you think he knew that?"

"No," the slytherin replied after a moment's thought. "Even for wizards there is a time for the news to spread. it's more likely that he thought Sauron would beat him to the ring and sent what forces he could to distract him while Saruman searched himself."

Arien took her much-used journey out of her bag and began to write with furious speed on it, making observations, drawing timelines, writing comments over comments with her tiny elegant handwriting. One would guess her calligraphy would be more alike herself – fast, nervous, and somewhat twisted. But it was tidy, rounded and elegant, in a way that was neither feminine nor masculine, but her own.

"What made you so upset Arien? Even the mortals realised."

They were talking in antarian, of course. Having a silencing spell may raise suspicions they were not in terms to deal with.

"I thought I had hid my emotions well." She defended herself.

"You hid it well. Only that we could sense it, instead of see it."

"Damn."

Silence.

"Will you not tell me?"

"Do I have to?" she shot back. His face was, as (almost) always, emotionless; and she was the first to back down from the confrontation –her anger was gone, and she would not hit him when he had done nothing wrong. "Aragorn told me to stay behind."

"Aragorn is an idiot."

"He is not! She cried hotly. "He may have been tired. Or else it's just the way he sees the things."

"He thinks you're unable to defend yourself?"

"And that I'll be a burden to them."

"Aragorn, as I said before, is an idiot."

"But perhaps that could work to our advantage..." she whispered, and got lost in her own thoughts. Seeing her face then Damon felt a pang on his heart, the intuition of an impending loss, and his body went cold. "Damon, I have a plan. But you _have_ to be honest when you tell me if you can make it all the way... "

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_@ Ered Nimrais (Southern Mountains), Temple in the Hills, Rohan. March 7th of 3019._

Sun had not yet risen in the sky. Eowyn was the first to talk to Aragorn when he left his tent, and no one dared to walk into their conversation – but she seemed extremely distraught, even more if one took in consideration how coldly she held herself at all times. Arien met him shortly afterwards, when the riders were ready to leave.

"Lord Aragorn." She called him. After a moment's pause she added, "With all the respect milord, but you look like shit. Didn't you sleep well this night?"

he lost his balance for a second, but regained his composure quickly enough. Her horse was already readied for a long ride, with a little blanket as a saddle and her backpack filled with supplies for the road. This he saw with a little sigh, and turned his blood-shed eyes to the edhel before him.

"The Path I take, I take it only because of extreme need. You are an excellent warrior, Arien, but I'd prefer not to risk your life in those paths."

_'Because I am young, my most honourable knight in shining armour, or because I'm female?'_

"The life is mine, Aragorn, to do with it as I will." She replied, and Aragorn shuddered with the memory that claim brought him. "You are the captain of the company, and I cannot impose myself to you. All the pity;" and on that her eyes became bright with unshed tears, "You made a liar and a deserter of me."

"You are still young, Arien. One day, you'll understand."

"Perhaps." She sighed, and turned her gaze to the company. "Do not be too hard on Damon, he has a difficult temper. But he will move heaven and earth to see this task done." And she looked at him again. "As will I. We'll meet at Minas Tirith."

"I will be glad to meet you again. The king's company will be here---"

"I'm not travelling with the king's forces." She said, and mounted her mare. "See you there."

"Milady, there is no other road on these mountains." Aragorn cried, when she was already crossing the gates.

"Then I'll have to make one!"

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A.N.: I hope I have answered here a bit of the question of Elrond and his house. As a matter of fact, it was my fault – I had talked about it on the prequel, and then I didn't do it again here. My apologies. 

**'I must be cruel only to be kind' – Hamlet, iv.178. Shakespeare. **Got a compilation of quotes, lol.

**'Always a pleasure to meet a Jedi' – Star Wars, Episode II: The Attack of the clones.** Love that movie...

**'Macbeth: If we should fail...**

**Lady Macbeth: We fail!**

** But screw your courage to the sticking place, **

**and we'll not fail.' – Macbeth, vii54, Shakespeare. **

**[1]- sindarin. naur –fire, gwenn-maiden, lass. I 'guessed' the construction here.**

**Nessi – she-elf (not sure whether it is sindarin or quenya though)**


	9. Chapter eight: The Wrath of Sauron

A.N.: at the foot!

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Chapter eight: The Wrath of Sauron__

**_"What's brave, what's noble_**

**_let's do it in high Roman fashion_**

**_and make death proud to take us." Antony and Cleopatra , Shakespeare. _**

****

_@ Erech hills, March 9th 3019._

It was a good thing Aragorn had said Arien shouldn't go with them, Damon thought. He remembered quite well how distressed she had been in Moria – the Paths of Dead were worse, in a way. Absolutely dark except for the two torches that Aragorn and Elladan held, and the eerie glow of the spirits walking behind them, the paths were a dark, narrow passage cut in raw stone many millennia ago.

Not something he'd like to see her endure, if he could help it. No way he could give her soothing serum without raising suspicion or blowing the cover.

Yes, definitely a good thing she had gone to Antar instead.

Everybody experimented fear in some degree –the animals were terrified, Gimli the dwarf looked as if he was carrying a boggart on his lap, the men were shaking and walking only for the love they had for Aragorn. Who, Damon might add, looked even worse than he had when the company left the temple in the Hills. The human wasn't sleeping – at all. The slytherin was almost feeling sorry for him.

Almost.

'_He better know what he is doing'._

Had Damon known of this in the battle of Helm's Deep, he would probably have included Aragorn in his probable gay guys roll of fame. The slytherin had not forgotten Aragorn for leaving them outside of the fortress yet, no matter what Arien said. But they had a mission to accomplish, and Damon took his duties very seriously.

_" Legolas turning to speak to Gimli looked back and the Dwarf saw before his face the glitter in the Elf's bright eyes. Behind them rode Elladan, last of the Company, but not the last of those that took the downward road._

_'The Dead are following,' said Legolas. 'I see shapes of Men and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night. The Dead are following. " [1]_

By the way, the blonde elf looked like a child who got lost in a candy store. He turned back on his mount and said '_The dead, the dead are following us!_' as if it was the most exciting thing since elves (humph!) invented wine. _Honestly._

Funny, those twins _did_ remind him of someone...

"Friends," said Aragorn, "Forget your weariness ! We must reach the Stone of Erech before the end of the day, and we have a long road ahead of us."

They reached the Hill of Erech a little before midnight.

"Forsworn, why have thee come?" asked Aragorn.

"To fulfil our oath and have peace." Said an echo from far, far away.

"The time has come," continued Aragorn, "Now I go to the Pelargir, over the Anduin, and thou must follow me. And when these lands are free from Sauron's minions, I'll consider the oath fulfilled and thou may leave forever. For I am Elessar, heir of Isildur of Gondor."

With that he ordered Halbarad to open his banner, but the banner was as black as the night and none could see what inscriptions it held. And with the dawn they left in great hurry.

And the dead followed.

_Arien better hold her end of the deal. _

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_@ Minas Tirith, Gondor. March 9th of 3019._

It was a terrible thing, to be caught between two cunning old men, Pippin thought.

For one whole hour, Lord Denethor interrogated him tirelessly, using the disguise of his fatherly love to grab any information about the Company he could. And in spite of his inexplicable affection for the old man, in that hobbit's simple mind one thought was marked as if in iron.

You must protect Frodo. You must help Aragorn. You cannot let Gandalf down.

It was _very _ terrible a thing, to be caught between those two.

"Are you mad at me, Gandalf? I did my best." The hobbit said when he left the throne room.

"You really did! Laughed Gandalf. The wizard approached Pippin, and put his arm over the halfling's shoulder, while gazing through the window. "And in spite of it, Denethor knew more through you than you may think. You could not hide that Boromir didn't lead the Company when they left Moria, or that among you travelled a man of great honour, and that he was coming to Minas Tirith, neither that this man carries a famous sword. Lord Denethor has a strong will. Pippin. It is hard to fool him, and dangerous to try. Remember this! Now you owe him allegiance. I don't know what made you do that, but I didn't stop you. Generous actions should not be stilled by cold counsels. Beware! You are now under his command, and he won't forget it."

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__

_@ Antares, Antar. March 9th of 3019._

The Blue Palace was in uproar. 

The War Council was called again, with the return of Arien, and they were arguing about the suitable courses of action since she walked – or stormed – into the halls of the government palace. 

The Comyn wing of the wizard bureau was there, with the obvious exception of Damon – Arien, Uliana, Selton and Elorie. The seven governors were there, along with the general of the Antarian army, Thelor, the Queen herself and the president of the senate (a waste of space in Arien's opinion...). 

"You can't be serious on this, lady Arien. Do you honestly think the great Republic of Antar should lend his army to our former enemies?" the senator asked.

Arien shot him a look.

_**"death to all bureaucrats. What the fuck this old bat is doing here?"_

**'Standard procedure. There must be a member of the senate here to validate the decision.' Selton replied.

_**'That guy actually has a **vote?'**_

_**'Yes, he does.'_

_**'Fuck.'_

"Yes, I think. Can you offer me a valid reason why we should not or are you going to ramble on about my flaws?"

"Hiril nîn, " Queen Aimé interrupted before the famous temper of the witch rose again, "I sent you because I thought it would solve the problem. You and hir nîn Damon are some of our most powerful wizards and certainly this is not something out of your league."[3]

The senator looked quite pleased. Arien took a long breath. The governors were rather interested in that contest of wills.

"We do not wish to divulge our position as wizards, milady. If released, this information would certainly add up to the ancestral fear between ourselves and the other races of Middle-earth, possibly leading to another word war. A war in which it would be all of them against us."

"What's the novelty of that?" asked Verlat, sniggering. "It has always been the rest of them against ourselves."

Arien had never wanted to scream more than in that moment. Fortunately Selton came to her rescue.

"That was when we didn't have Antar, Verlat."

"Exactly, we are safe here within the great walls of the republic—"

"Can you SHUT THE FUCK UP???" Arien yelled. "Do you even listen to yourself, dammit? You are willing to call the war to **_our_**_ lands and **our** homes, instead of the lands of another country, allowing **our fields and woods being destroyed in the war and all? Fuck! Tell me again why I _hate_ bureaucrats."**_

"You shall observe proper language within these walls, lady Arien." Reprimanded Verlat coolly.

"No, I shall not!" she spat back at him, not in the least bit repentant. "You just don't _want _to understand, " she sighed and ran her hand through her hair, this was going to be one _looooong meeting. "if we do not defeat Sauron, he will turn to us as soon as his historical enemies are down. The Easterlings are already coming to our doors to prove my point here." _

The senator shifted in his seat. 

"But they can defeat Sauron on their own." Said another governor, Altarion.

"No," she said with more self-control. "They can't. The rohirrim are still recovering from the battle of Helm's Deep, they lost many men there and fought absurdly outnumbered. And they also have to guard their own borders. The gondorians are fighting with Sauron's forces for centuries and  have their numbers greatly reduced. And these are the greatest kingdoms around, the others are just feuds. No, Gondor **will fall. And after Gondor, Rohan and the western human kingdoms are down, Sauron will turn his eyes elsewhere. And then we are doomed." **

"Sunny ray of light you are." Whispered Uliana.

"I still don't see why we should send our soldiers to the outside world." Pointed the senator, Poldon.

"The last time we met, you said we could hold ourselves in a confront, Arien. That it was only a preventive measure, to avoid it coming here." Wondered Aimé.

"That was _before_ I saw the situation. Sauron wanted to take the rohirrim out of the game, and he sent an army of fifteen thousand  to destroy them. Fifteen thousand, and it wasn't even the major force, it was only a little _something to disable a potential ally. Do you have any idea of the army he has gathered for the major strike? And when Gondor, weakened and alone, falls, what do you think he'll use that army for?"_

Silence.

"What about the elven kingdoms?" asked Aimé at last.

"Isolated, and sure as hell doomed if the ring goes back to Sauron."

"The One Ring?" asked the marshal Meldon. "But it was lost in the second age!"

"Beginning of third." Arien corrected him. Modern history was not familiar to antarians, for obvious reasons. "And it has been found. A hobbit is on his way to Mordor as we speak, to cast the ring in the volcano and destroy it."

"hobbit? What's a hobbit?" asked Thelor. Arien proceeded to explain to him they were creatures related to humans, but shorter than dwarves, with hairy feet and peaceful character.

"So it will be destroyed." Asked Polton, but his voice held a great deal of doubt.

"_Theoretically. Even without the ring Sauron's forces will still be out to the kill. And several things can go wrong. The ring can corrupt him, or  he can be caught, and then the ring returns to its master, who will have his full strength back again. Then the elven rings which protect the greater elven kingdoms will lose their power – or worse yet, will be under the One Ring's influence."_

"Which concerns us because..." asked Verlat. Gods, the guy was absolutely insufferable!

"_Guess who's next? And can you tell me that we can handle a fully fledged Sauron? Because I can't." she spat. Turning to the queen, the young witch raised an eloquently exasperated eyebrow. "Aimé, you gave me _carte blanche_. **I need an army." **_

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_@Temple in the Hills, Rohan. March 9th of 3019._

The king's company reached the temple with the dusk, and many men left their shelters behind the rocks. Horns were blown and many joyful voices cried in the air, "The king Theoden! The king returned!"

And there in the temple in the Hills, the king Theoden found gathered his forces. Dunhere, captain of the people in the Harg Valley, came to meet him.

"Three days before, at dawn, milord," he said, "Shadowfax arrived at Edoras with the speed of the wind, and Gandalf told us of your victory, warming our hearts. But he also said to hasten the gathering of the riders. And then the shadow with wings came."

"The shadow with wings? But we saw it too, only that it was before Gandalf left."

"That may be, milord, but the same, or other like it, flew over Edoras drowning our hearts in fear. Then Gandalf told us not to stay at the open fields, but meet you here in the valley of the mountains. And he told us to light fire only in extreme need- he spoke with great authority, and we all trusted him."

"So be it –'twas better this way. I will enter the fortress and rest, but before I shall meet my captains and marshals. I want to see them as soon as possible!"

Ad Theoden rode into hornburg with his company and the captains who had come to him. The army was camping around the road who led to the Temple, and it was a long way up, tortuous and hard to climb, designed so that an army could not conquer the building on the top if there was anyone to defend it above. The rocks were eroded and dark, their carvings lost forever. And on the top, more tents were seen, among the statues of stone they called púkel-men, who were long forgotten –no song nor tale celebrated them. They lived in the first age, in the dark days, before any ship came from west, or Gondor were built. In the end of the pathway was a high platform, were a soldier awaited clad in metal –but merry realised the soldier was in fact a woman, her long hair braided in the twilight.

"Hail, Lord of the Riddermark!" she cried. "My heart is overjoyed with your return."

"And you, Eowyn." Said Theoden with clear affection in his voice. "How fares thee?"

"All is well. Some said harsh words, for it was long since war drove us from our houses, but no harsh actions. All is in order, as you may see, milord.  And your quarters are ready, as you see –we were aware of your arrival."

"So Aragorn was here. Is he here yet?"

"No. He is gone." And she turned her eyes to the Southeast.

"You are sad, child. Did he speak of the path?"

"Yes. I could not dissuade him. And he went into the shadows no man ever walked out from. He is gone."

The riders went minding their own business, resting and looking after the horses, gears and weapons; and Merry thought it was time to get something for his long-neglected stomach. However, as the king's courier, he was called to serve the table. The atmosphere was so thick and sad it took some time for Theoden to realise the hobbit was still standing (and still starving. "Come master Meriadoc! Sit by me and warm my heart with stories."

There were no stories, however.  The issue of the fate of Aragorn hung ominously among them. Dinner lingered not for its comfort, but for their sadness.

"A tall man entered, and Merry choked back a cry; for a moment it seemed that Boromir was alive again and had returned. Then he saw that it was not so; the man was a stranger, though as like to Boromir as if he were one of his kin, tall and grey-eyed, and proud." [2]

Gondor sent the Red Arrow to Rohan.

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_@ Sea of Rhûn Coast, Wasteland. March 10th of 3019._

Selton scanned the horizon. Not a soul in miles.

Had it been only yesterday Arien had broken into the capitol absolutely berserk about the impending war in Gondor? It seemed so long ago... but then again, that infamous little thing was born with the power to make things happen faster than their usual pace. Selton smiled. He had missed her more than he should in a parting so brief.

The gryffindor wizard remembered only too well the havoc Arien had caused when she appeared in Antares a few hours after dawn – apparating, of course; after all she had her destination in mind rather than being chasing clues in the wilderness – and plainly requested from the Queen that an army should be sent to Gondor to face Sauron's forces. _And she got it. She actually got it._

Unbelievable.

Of course the army could not be overly large –they had to protect themselves as well. One-third of the wizards had been called to go to Gondor while the rest stayed to defend the borders. The War Council was put in red alert. And a seven and a half thousand renegade army – what could be gathered in the twelve hours deadline Arien had determined, leaving the city with most of the population on their guards for a possible battle on the walls or on their shores - was sent  under his leading to Gondor, to strike whatever random company they might find in their way to Antar. They should reach Minas Tirith in a desperate race against time. And as they were mostly 'Muggles' (they really had to find another noun to non-magical, that muggle thing was clearly created to offend) they were riding horses.

Which meant they would take at least three days. The animals needed rest, even when the renegades didn't.

He, Selton, hadn't believed in the powers of the Dark Lord. But Arien was a truthful person, if more than a bit reckless and also hasty in her decisions. He thought it was only a large amount of orcs they'd have to slain before the monsters threatened their homeland.

Until today. The day the sun itself was covered under a dark cloud –or mist, or whatever –so dense no light passed through. They had seen it coming, but it was far, far away, a dark space hanging over Mordor, and it seemed appropriate somehow. But that day, March 10th , the sun hadn't broke through the thick black cloud, and with the utter darkness came a nameless fear, a fear of something utterly terrible and evil. And the fear tightened his heart (and his throat) for the first time since the first age, since he was only a little half-elfling running through the woods of East Beleriand, trying to find a safe spot where no one could hurt him ever again. He remembered clearly the day the rumours caught him, hiding in the trees, how they had taken pity over them and helped the renegades world-wide spreading the news of their new-born nation.

On his side, the Ravenclaw nodded indicating that they should urge their soldiers faster. None of them wanted to arrive and find the city already under siege.

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_@Temple in the Hills, Rohan. March 10th of 3019._

"I won't stay behind to be picked on the way back. I won't, I won't!" rambled Merry  when he went to sleep. His sleep was short-lived an agitated, filled with images of dark riders and dark passages in the rocks, and of concern over his friends. Before his backs could get over the pain he acquired on the long horseback ride, a man shook him awake.

"Wake up master holbytlan!"

"Whassammattar?"

"The king calls you."

"But the sun hasn't risen yet."

"No, and it won't rise today, master holbytlan. And never again, one could assume under this cloud. But the time is still running, even when the sun is lost. Come!"

When Merry left his tent he faced a world immersed in darkness – like a hobbit home when you turn off all the lights. The look in the face of people was of fright and terror, the sky above them was black, not a cloud was seen, and the very air seemed to be black. The hobbit made his way to the king, hearing the last words of the gondorian messenger's speech.

"It comes from Gondor, milord. It started yesterday, at dusk. I saw it behind me, devouring even the sparkle of the stars. now the great darkness stretches from the Misty Mountains to this lands – the war has started."

The king Theoden was silent for a long moment, then spoke: "So we met it. The great war of our time, in which many will perish. But at least there is no more need for secrecy, we'll take the straight road, and in the open road in full speed. The gathering of our troops must take place immediately, not waiting for whomever may be late. Do you have full reserves at Minas Tirith? for if we must ride at full speed, then  we must travel light, with only food and drink to last till the battle."

"We have plenty of them, prepared long ago. go now with as light and swiftly as possible!" replied Hirgon, before leaving. Éomer went off blowing the horns and giving orders to his captains, and the king spoke to Merry – who had been quiet in a corner waiting for his turn.

"I go to war, Master Meriadoc." He said, and in his eyes there was so much conflicting emotions Merry could not decide what he was feeling, "I'll take the road soon. But I forswear you from your service, if not of my affection. You must remain here, and if you wish, help Lady Eowyn who will rule my people."

"But my Lord," Merry argued, thinking of all his friends who were there "I offered you my sword. I do not wish to part from you this way, king Theoden. And all my friends have gone to battle, I would be ashamed if I stood behind."

"We ride horses who are fast and strong." Replied the king. "And thought your courage is great, you cannot ride like that."

"Then carry me! For I will go running if I cannot ride, even if I get there several weeks late."

Merry was so upset he forgot observing the proper rules of behaviour. But Theoden didn't mind, the little holbytla was very dear to him, and acted that way out of his love and loyalty.

They reached Edoras at noon, as the temple had no way out of the mountains but that road, and another no one dared to walk but Aragorn. There again Merry begged to go with their company, and there again Theoden denied his plea with a heavy heart. But a knight approached him silently in the chaos of parting soldiers and preparations to war. Quietly the knight spoke, "When will wants not, a way opens; so we say, and I  found it true myself. You wish to follow the Lord of the Riddermark, and I see it in your eyes."

"Indeed I wish." He answered.

"Then I will take you. You will go sitting with me in my saddle, until we are far away and this darkness even darker. Do not tell a word, but come!"

"I am immensely grateful, thought I know not your name."

"You do not? Then call me Dernhelm."[5]

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__

_@ Minas Tirith, Gondor. March 12th of 3019._

Faramir had been sent to Osgiliath yesterday, and Pippin was beside himself with worry.

Not only he had watched the two most stubborn, strong-willed old men he knew battling with their wills –_again _– but he also saw a very proud, very honourable man being sent to what could be called nothing but certain death. How could they, a bunch of rangers, resist to the onslaught from Mordor that would certainly come from there?

Today the darkness was absolute and news started to come to the city. The passage of the Anduin had been taken, they said. Faramir was withdrawing with what forces he could gather.

"If he makes it through Pelennor, the enemy will be on his heels. They paid for crossing it, but less than we thought –the attack was planned long ago, and they had boats and bridges secretly built. But that's the Black Rider who defeats us, few can handle even the rumour of his arrival. His own folk fears him." Said the messenger.

"They need me there more than here." Said Gandalf, leaving immediately to aid Faramir at Osgiliath.

_@ Minas Tirith, Gondor. March 13th of 3019._

The belts rang signalling the beginning of a new day, and in the distance the people of Minas Tirith saw balls of flame being thrown against the walls of Pelennor.

"They took the walls! They're coming!" cried the sentinels.

"Where is Faramir?" asked another.

Gandalf arrived in the city a few hours later. With wagons carrying the wounded and all that could be saved from Osgiliath. The Istar went immediately after the steward of the city, who was in his White Tower Room.

"Has Faramir come with you?" asked Denethor.

"No," Gandalf replied with a sigh, "HE stood behind to avoid the withdrawal became a chaotic flight. "Maybe he can keep his men together for the necessary amount of time, but I doubt it. He is seized by an enemy too powerful."

"Not the dark Lord?" asked Pippin, full of fright.

Denethor laughed – and it was cold and grim, with no joy or life-, "No, not yet, Master Peregrin!  He won't come, until it is to laugh of me when all is lost. He uses others as his pawns –that's what great Lords do, if they are wise. For what other reason would I be here, sitting in my tower and waiting, watching and planning; risking even my sons? For I can still wield a sword."

Denethor stood up and opened his long black cloak, and Pippin could see he had a sword . "Thus have I walked, and thus for many years now I have slept. Otherwise the body grows weak and timid." 

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In the dark they rode hard, their destination less than a day ahead. Nevertheless the renegades were restless, as if sensing a great evil that was not supposed to be there, and that fear urged them to ride till their animals became exhausted. Only the great affection between mare and master made that trip possible.

Most of the day was past them, and they'd be in Minas Tirith  before dawn. But their senses captured the source of the evil they'd been feeling all along, a few miles on their left,  in the east, and Selton ordered the army to go there.

If that was a taste of what Sauron could do, Selton vowed to make his damned best it never reached Antar.

A great city of  men lay in ruins before them, while an absurd number of orcs, haradrim men and easterlings for good measure, savagely attacked a company of men that couldn't count more than five hundred. So Arien wasn't kidding when she said they were greatly reduced. For a second he tried to decide if they should defend the city or merely escort the men back to where their main forces should be gathered.

There was a main force, right? _Right?_

"We have to sacrifice this city. Let's take them back to Minas Tirith!" he shouted at last. Arien nodded in acquiescence, leading her company to the rescue.

Good thing Arien was a wanderer. He had no way of knowing the earth had changed so much. Most of the mountains he was used to had changed, rivers had disappeared and others had appeared. He'd take months to find out _where Minas Tirith was._

They invaded the city in one single wave, forcing the enemy to retreat. It was no small feat, because the orcs were as persistent as they were stupid and the men of Harad and Sunland were equally –or more- determined on destroying their opponents.

Sunland men fought with spears and short swords, while haradrim fought with crossbows and recurved sword annoyingly alike the ones orcs used. Arrows flew in the dark, and the metallic sound of swords meeting was heard all over, the arrival of the renegades brought a new hope to the company in Osgiliath.

Selton retrieved his sword from one of the easterlngs, while looking around to evaluate the situation. It was bad, he thought. Very bad. They  just kept coming, there was no way they could defend such an open area. Not without an army of many tens of thousands.

"Prepare the retreat!" he yelled, trusting his captains would make the arrangements.

In the corner of his eye he saw Arien running through the enemies, trying to communicate with the men. She was a living miracle. All her family killed by humans and she still treated them without any resentment. Suddenly she cried in Antarian, "I found them! Prepare the path!"

"Who's in charge here?" Arien cried to the closest man.

"Captain Faramir of Gondor, milady." The soldier replied, without stopping the fight.

"Where is he?"

"At the back, in our rearguard. He stood behind to control the withdrawal."

"We must leave immediately. This city is lost for us, and these men are needed to defend the white city. Gather what troops you can, and tell them we are going back to Minas Tirith."

The soldier hesitated for only one second, before nodding and going away searching for his companions. Arien continued her search. "Who of you is Faramir?" she yelled at a small group of men fighting together a small crowd of easterlings and orcs.

Sword may be her weapon of choice, but let's face it, arrows will work much more efficiently here. Quickly standing on what she called to herself as  the _look-at-me-I'm-on-tv!_ position- knees slightly bent, feet parallel and separated, shoulders  aligned with her knees and straight, head slightly inclined and bow arm stretched but not painfully so, while the arrow-hand easily found the anchor point between her canines (it's a point of reference for archers) she began shooting madly at the little crowd.

Truth to be said, she was _not_ an excellent archer –her time on earth made her somewhat loose that ability. She was okay, thought; and much better on hand-to-hand combat – and even better on wand-to-wand, but that was not the place for that. They needed five minutes to clear the area – a large street, leading to a park and surrounded by many houses made of stone and wood – so finally one of them could speak to her.

"I am Faramir. Who looks for him?" said a tall man with dark brown hair and grey eyes.

"My name is Arien, I was sent to help you by Antar. Now come, we must leave this place immediately before the chance is taken away from us. All else you may ask me on our way back."

The man regarded her sceptically but apparently believed her reasons. The onslaught would be resumed any time and Osgiliath was too vulnerable, they all knew that.

"Prepare to leave!" he cried, watching as his men ran to follow his lead. Soon the company was set and ready, even as  the enemy continued to attack, relentlessly. When the company of rangers reached the gates of Osgiliath they saw the numbers of their rescuers, and left out a relieved sigh.

Thousands of warriors clad in metallic armours, heavily armed and proud-looking, stood protecting their way out of that inferno. The few wounded they had were put on horses with the newcomers, and the others were invited to do so as well- they should cover the distance with more speed riding.

"I do appreciate your aid, milady." 

Arien turned to the young captain of Gondor. "You have questions and the road is somewhat long ahead of us. Is there anything you'd want to ask me?"

"How did you know we needed aid? Who sent you?"

"Red company to the rearguard! Keep them at bay!" she whispered to Pyrr on her left, who rode to do as she said. "Nobody sent us here, and we had no warning you might need help in Osgiliath. I met Gandalf recently, and was with Aragorn and Theoden in Rohan fighting against the orcs of Saruman. It was Gandalf who told us that war would reach Gondor and we split forces in our way in – Aragorn took his rangers one way, Theoden came to gather his army at Edoras and I returned to get help in our country. We were on our way to the White Tower when we saw you were in trouble."

"Those are wonderful news, captain Arien. And then I must thank you in double – for coming to our aid in Gondor and for going out of your path to help us. My father will be most pleased with this. We didn't think the elves would come to war."

Selton, wisely, chose to stay silent. The other riders followed his example and kept riding, impassibly. Arien let out a little laugh. "I see. But I think the rest of the tale can wait till Minas Tirith. Onward! The Wraith is behind us."

The Wraith, apparently, wasn't at all glad at their arrival. The beast released his dreadful powers, making many men shiver on their saddles, although they didn't completely despair, and the elves did not stop their march because of him. The magical weapons kept the haradrin, sunlandings, orcs and the wraith at a respectable distance, while the army rode at full speed to the city of minas Tirith, going past the destroyed walls of the Pelennor.

Five and a half hours later, they reached the gates of the city, blowing their war horns and unfolding their banners – they had a flag alright, silver fox against red; but the horn had been a little difficult to find. The enemies were still a good two leagues away from them, and the rearguard held them off while the majority of the force entered the city, then ran swiftly through the gates so the men could close it before their foes invaded like ants.

They arrived at Minas Tirith  in the middle of the night, only the dim light of the fire illuminating the lands as the darkness engulfed the light from the moon and the stars. Faramir lead them to the second ring, where the army could camp and rest for a while from their race, while Arien and Selton were lead to the Throne Room to speak to the Steward of the White City.

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Denethor prided at letting very few things surprise him. However, seeing his younger son coming back from Osgiliath after they all had begun to count them as dead, bringing with him –or was it the other way around? – a large army of elves to their rescue certainly did.

However, Denethor did not trust hope much. He had fought with the will of Sauron many years, and seen  glimpses of the power the Dark Lord had prepared for them, gondorians, hated enemies of forgotten time, when one of them, Isildur, dared to face him one-on-one as if he was not a mortal and Sauron a maia. And Isildur cut the Ring of power from Sauron's hand, forcing him to flee and assuring the army of the Alliance the victory over that one battle. Only Sauron would not be completely defeated –not as long as the ring still existed.

On his left side stood his squire, Peregrin, and on his right one that annoying old bat called Mithrandir, who thought he was Lord in Gondor. Ha! As if. Before him stood three tall figures, taller than his son –who was very tall in the accounts of men, being almost six feet tall  – clad in silver and green, their ensign embroidered in their cloaks and shirts, a silver fox against crimson.

They were the strangest elves Denethor could possibly envision. It was quite obvious enough that they had seen many things, one could say it just by looking in their eyes. Their features, however, were odd – the first had dirty blonde hair and grey eyes, the other had dark hair and eyes and the third – a female – had red hair and dark blue eyes.

"Greetings," said the blonde one, putting his clenched hand over his heart, "milord."

"Greetings," said Denethor, keeping his expression blank. Which strange people would say 'greetings'? "I must tell you the news surprised me. I never thought the elves would come to aid Gondor."

Fortunately she was with Pyrr and Selton, Arien thought. Damon's restraint on that particular sore spot was growing thin every passing day. 

"The elves have problems protecting their own borders, milord." Arian answered, trying to decide whether to tell everything and get rid of the burden. If it was up to her, she'd let it on the open and face problems with her head held up high –and then again, the world had changed so much they were probably worrying over nothing. 

Denethor kept his gaze on them – a most disturbing thing. When did humans got so piercing gazes? 

Her battalion would not pass as elves as soon as Legolas reached the city with the twins. 

"We are Peredhil, from the lands of Antar far in the north-east." She said, and Gandalf shifted the weight from one foot to the other. Thanks to the charms they cast on him, he would be their best friend until it went absolutely against his soul, in that case Gandalf would stand up for what he held dear. But as far as they were friendly, they got along fine. And Arien had no intention of tickling that one dragon.

No way in hell she'd teach or use the  _Imperius _curse in Middle Earth.

"Peredhil? I didn't know there were any. Much less a battalion of them! And here, within the walls of the white city. Why is that?"

"There are quite a few of us." Arien kept going, ignoring the Pyrr's unease on her left. What the hell, the elves are sailing west anyway. 

Selton took the leading then, as it was diplomatic mission, and that he could do much better than Arien. "We live north-east, as Arien said, and there we saw the shadow growing strong in these lands. The Queen told us to do anything we could so this situation was solved ... in a definite fashion. So here we are. We rode since the dusk, three days ago. We feared to find the walls under blockade already –and in fact, it won't take too long for your enemies to isolate us."

"Ah, yes." Denethor sighed, and the renegades felt an icy grip on their hearts. This was _not _a nice fellow, not then at least. "I presume you knew of this Gandalf."

Pippin nearly jumped off his feet, then, when Denethor turned to meet Gandalf's eyes. But the Istar stood his ground, with an innocent smile. "I knew lady Arien to be a peredhil, but I did not know she would bring any reinforcements, Lord Denethor. Often fate brings us unexpected gifts."

"I see. And will you defend this city with us?" the steward asked the trio.

"Yes, milord. We will defend this city against the dark lord, unless we ride out to meet his forces in the very lands of Mordor. But that depends on how the war develops. We came to defeat him definitely." Selton answered.

"A very modest goal, milord." Denethor smiled coldly, and they saw he had been somewhat enraged to discover they could leave to face the forces of Sauron. All he was concerned was the safety of his people, for so long threatened, and an all open attack was absolutely folly in his opinion. "But before that, you'll have to open your way through the hundreds of thousands foes who are gathered before our gates as we speak. And to that, if your trip was as hard as your companion said, even you shall have to rest. My captain Beleg will provide you some food and shelter for the night. We will meet again at the first hours of the morning. Now I bid you farewell."

The renegades bowed and left the room, lead by a dark-haired soldier, shorter than Faramir. When the door was closed, Denethor turned to his young son and to the wizard, and said, "Now, tell me what you know of these peredhil."

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The next day, the army Sauron had gathered for himself was seen in full – and it was huge, an army to destroy all things that were beautiful and grew. There was little chance any realm could resist to their advance.

The enemy marched slowly, protecting themselves from the peredhil archers who were ready on the walls, waiting to see if they could take some of the evil soldiers down. 

The orcs and southern men brought with them large machines and used them to throw big projectiles which exploded before landing on the ground, causing focus of fire across the first ring. And after them, they threw the heads of the gondorians who had fallen in Rammas, Osgiliath, and in other places.

The Nazgûl came and went, throwing despair over the city. But not as much as they wanted, for the lord of Minas Tirith had a pulse of steel, and his son had the heart of the gondorians as well as much bravery, and the renegades stood proud on the walls, as if the Wraiths were nothing  and the army before them had not hundreds of thousands.

And all this Sauron saw from his Dark tower, using his dark magic; and  it much angered him.

And was the day and the night, the first day of the siege.

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_@ Minas Tirith, Gondor. March 15th of 3019.[7]_

The sentinels over the walls gave the first alarm : "The rohirrim are coming! Make path for the rohirrim!"

But _how _to make path for the rohirrim was another story altogether. They were mustered, hundreds of thousands around them, orcs and dunlendings and haradrins and other barbarians of the tribes in the south. And the forces of Rohan had no more than five thousand soldiers, they would not get anywhere _close_ to the gates of the city.

 And indeed they did not. All they accomplished was attracting the fury of the impatient army gathered outside the white city's high walls, being swiftly surrounded in a wave of terror, blood, and murder. Finally the gates were opened and the city forces pushed back the Mordor army, so the rohirrim could pass.

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A.N.: 

[1] quote from ROTK.

[2] idem. The red arrow is, from what I understood, a pleading for aid – something like our S.O.S signal.

[3] Hir nîn – milord, My Lord. Hiril nîn- Milady , My lady.

[4] in the actual lineage, Aredhel is the daughter of Fingolfin, who was brother to Finarfin; but to make this fanfiction I made her switch places... forgive me please? :c)

[5] the name means Helm of the secret. (it's in the books, but I thought I should point out...)

[6] movie quote – that should be Legolas speaking to Aragorn at helm's deep, when they made peace. 

[7] I must confess it was quite hard to calculate the number of the army in the white city. I took them out of the chapter _the last debate_ (? – remember I have the Portuguese version) where Aragorn talks to the captains and says he would leave the city with 7 thousand men and still leave the city more well guarded than when they entered. He said four thousand would come marching from the Pelargir, and some were already arriving; Eomer took one thousand to go to Mordor and Three thousand would remain, Imrahil would lead three and a half thousand men, (though he only brought seven hundred). And Tolkien says the reinforcements from other lands to Gondor didn't sum three thousand. (when Pippin is watching the soldiers' entrance). All in all, I calculated with  the renegade army and the rohirrim the total would be somewhere around 31,000 strong.

I thought this might help you guys a bit. =]

   Lúthien=Beren                                Finarfin=Eärwen

                |                                                         |

         Idril=Tuor              _Galadriel     +  **Aredhel [4] +  Finrod  + Orodreth + Angror + Aegnor**_

                |                      _=Celeborn_      =**Glaucus Antonius**

 Earendil=Elwing                 |                           |

                  |                          |                            |

**      Elros    +    _Elrond _ =  _Celebrian    **Andrea + Arien**_**

  --**(forbear of Aragorn)**      |

  **|**        _Elladan  + Elrohir +  Arwen Undómiel_

  |___________________à  **=Aragorn**


	10. Chapter nine: Pelennor – Part I

**A.N.:** I am mixing the movie and the books (this is fanfiction, and even I can't write that long…. We would get nowhere. So bear with me, please?)

**Warning:** it goes very, very complicated from now on. (Hint: **pay attention!)**

 Now you may have realised that we have created an AU. 

**Changes: **don't know if you realised, but this fic went under some editing. I decided to cut off some more gruesome/clichéd parts; i.e., Aragorn being a look-alike of Sirius Black and the elves playing hunter-and-orc with renegades. While I'm not telling it never happened, I decided it should be something more of a seldom occurrence, or else it would be common knowledge. And then there would be no way in hell Elrond would stay with the elves, right?

Discrepancies like that. 

Fasten your seat belts, we are going to the Battle of Pelennor!

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Chapter Nine: Pelennor – Part I 

**_"Too early seen unknown, and known too late!" Romeo and Juliet, v. 142, Shakespeare. _**

_@ Minas Tirith, Gondor. March 15th of 3019._

The Lord Denethor went down to the first ring. It was an unusual thing, for him to descend  to meet his guests, but the captains needed to counter-attack swiftly and for that, going up and down the rings was very unproductive and time-consuming. The gates were unaligned, making the trip much longer that it usually would be, should the path have been a straight line.

The rohirrim army was camped in one of the patios, and Prince Imrahil was talking with King Theoden. 

"We came with as much haste as we could, milord," said Theoden, "We were already on our way when we received the Red Arrow."

"Gondor thanks for your haste, as we all do," replied the prince of Dol Amroth. "I am relieved to see you could go through the siege."

"We feared such thing as a siege. But we hoped we could arrive before it was a deed done."

"King Theoden of the Riddermark. It pleases me to see you here." Said Denethor, finally coming out of his shadowy hidden corner. He had  been listening to the conversation for a while, trying to grasp what their feelings were about the conflict.

"We came to honour our allegiance with Gondor, my lord."

"And you are most welcome, King Theoden."

"My lords," said Pyrrhus, "there's a fleet approaching us. The captain – she informed us that the enemies are now trying to break the gate."

"She?" asked Theoden, with a small amount of surprise. He had seen several females (or at least he thought so, some elves were so androgynous no one could really tell...) but from there to have a female _captain, _ that was something else entirely.

"Yes, sire," replied Pyrrhus, indifferently. "Now if you excuse me, I must go back to the lines."

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The men could not see it yet, but the renegades watched as a fleet approached the small haven. Distinguishable in the largest vessel, the figure of a dwarf, three elves and several different men. They should arrive in one hour.

"Is the company ready?" Arien asked Selton, who was returning from a talk with the Red company. In Antar they divided the groups by colours – she had taken mostly people who were proficient in fighting, but not part of the militia. The militia would not be docile, and the least she needed was someone trying to boss her around every five minutes. These were mostly wizards, farmers, smithers, businesspeople, and even a few politicians. Ordinary people, with extraordinary hearts. And every company had about fourteen hundred people, being the Red, Green, Grey, Black and Blue units. The Red was the more experienced of the lot, and so far she had placed them on the rearguard, while the Grey company – most of the wizards were there, although she tried to balance the wizards placing a bit in every company -  were used to go first. Grey and Black were mostly archers –thought truth to be told, any company could pose as such. Blue was the company were she had placed the ones she could use in more desperate times, renegades who were able to go on days fighting. The most deadly unit.

"Yes, Enn."

"The Blue will open path with the Red. The others give us cover from the wall. Some will go with us. Has anyone seen Gandalf?"

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No matter how much he (thought he had) prepared himself for the worst, the sight before Aragorn was nothing but a complete nightmare. 

He had gathered help along the way – the slaves they had freed from the Corsairs of Umbar, the people of the region of Lebethron, and whatever militia they found on their way. The rest of them, about four thousand men, could not leave immediately –nor would they have room in the ships for them –and were marching to the white city. Yet, the force with him was no more than thirteen hundred men (plus three elves and one dwarf), not all of them soldiers –thought a man defending his home was not to be underestimated under any circumstances.

When Elrond had set the dote of Undomiel, Aragorn did not complain. He went off to the wild and did all that was humanly possible – and more- to clear the world of evil so he could claim his throne in Gondor and wed his Evenstar. When the dark became darker and all hopes but the tiniest faded, he remained true and focused. But now, he wondered if he was but bringing his friends to certain death.

He could not _count_ the enemy.

A few feet away stood his elf-friends, who undoubtedly had a better view of the situation. Their faces were grim and determined, as ones who are ready to die.

Because of the dark, the men in the citadel were unlikely to recognise them. Aragorn's original plan had been to unfold Arwen's banner so the gondorian people could see they were not foe (those were Umbar vessels, after all). With all the army before them, it was possible that it would not have the chance to be a problem.

"Unfold the banner!" he cried. In face of the inevitable the least he could do was hold his head up high.

The ships approached the port and stopped. The tripulants were ready to land – they all knew that hopeless as the situation might be, there was truly nowhere else to go. Not if they wanted the preservation of Middle-earth as they knew it.

The king had returned to Gondor.

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"So your people will never again call mine selfish, Master Elf, and I shall give you another chance to beat me. Thought we both know it won't matter anyway." Gimli said with what tried to pass as a smile.

Elladan and Elrohir, who were both close by, looked quizzically to the Prince of Mirkwood.

"He still believes he can outscore an elf." Replied Legolas with a hint of mirth.

"_Another_ chance?" asked Elladan, with an arched eyebrow.

"He was lucky at Helm's Deep. I told him that only happened because he got trapped outside longer than I did." Legolas said, with a slight shrug.

"Let's hope his luck proves true once again," said Elrohir.

At that moment, they heard a muffled little explosion and fireworks bursted above them.

"What are you doing?" asked Aragorn, running down from the platform on which he was standing.

"Warning Gondor we are friends."

"And our foes, too." Aragorn said in a deadly quiet voice. Damon, apparently, did not take that intervention on his actions very well.

"Our foes got the clue from that cute piece of fabric you are showing off. 'Tis Gondor that must be warned, so Arien can open us a path." The slytherin replied in a silky voice that had nothing to do with friendliness. He had been holding himself back for days, and now that _baby_ boy was thinking he could judge his efforts! _As if!_

Gimli, of course, would not let Aragorn be told off like that. "How could she open a path, Damon? She is at Rohan!"

"Look again," Damon replied shortly, indicating the white city with a long, slender finger.

A huge line of archers stood up on the wall of the first Ring of Minas Tirith, firing down restlessly. The metallic gates opened partly, letting out a good four thousand warriors under the protection of the arrows shot from the walls, and started to push their enemies back with a measured fury. Inch by inch they gained grounds, making way to rescue the soldiers that were disembarking a few miles away. But of course Gimli only saw  the enemies being pushed back, and the identity of the warriors was a secret until Legolas told him what he saw.

The men were already on the ground, trying to break through to the friendly army and reach some semblance of safety. The orcs, torn between their long hatred for the 'elves' and the new and vulnerable targets, split their attacks – but they had a number great enough for that. The renegades were doing a great job keeping the orcs off but they were just badly outnumbered. Where they had agility and dexterity, the orcs had bloodlust, experience and odds of  thirty to one. Oddly enough though, they were not suffering any losses.

A thin line, like the path of ants in a garden, formed all the way from the gates to the haven. When Aragorn's men saw there were not enough of the elves to reach out for them, for the distance was too great, another army –actually, the forces of the fiefdoms of Gondor- appeared in their rescue and the men Aragorn's gathered gladly forced their way to the rescue force.

But the Gondorian army never left the city.

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"Will we not go to hem?" asked Faramir, when his uncle Imrahil left. The Prince of Dol Amroth, quite wisely, left without a word –in the state of nerves Denethor was in, it was quite a dangerous thing to cross him.

For the first time for as long as Faramir could remember, his father was shaking with anger. Not that it lasted long, in a few moment's time his calm, controlled poise was back ; but for the moment it lasted it had been terrifying. It still was. The very idea of his father _showing_ emotion that way was disconcerting.

But now Denethor saw all he cared for going to ruin. Not only his beloved capital was under siege from all the forces of evil Mordor could gather, but also, in the crucial moments, the banner of Isildur was lifted.

He was in a crossroad. If he helped them, he was inviting the snake into his house, to bring division among his already suffering people and risk losing his position as the ruler of the city. He had worked too long and too hard against the shadow to be thrown out like that, in the last days of his life. For he had worn himself out in his will contests with the Dark Lord in his _Palantír._

If he did not help them, not only would the morale of his troops be thrown in the mood, but his allies may turn their backs on him and fight the war on their own, even claiming Minas Tirith for themselves – they had the numbers for a civil war inside the streets of Minas Tirith. Although that was a faint possibility. It was more likely that one of them would try to get him killed during the conflict, but trying to keep Gondor in some semblance of unity. The bastard suitor might even be a part of a plan to do so. Either way, the survival of his people would  become even fainter a possibility.

"Not yet," he hissed, as if the words were pulled out of his chest against his will. He would hold back his army for a while longer.

And if Sauron's forces did not take care of the supposed heir, Denethor would have to think of something else.

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Noon turned into dusk, and stubbornly  the armies stood before the gates felling foe after foe. Many of their allies lay dead on the ground, but their slaughtering was no less terrible. They fought like the caged beasts they were, with determination and the kind of despair that does not let a man realise his own exhaustion.

Eowyn had no way of knowing all the men fighting by her were Gondor's allies, not Gondorians themselves. In the enchanted darkness they fought, only the lights of the fire consuming the walls of Pelennor and a couple of cabanas across the valley, as well as some trees, and sometimes, some dead bodies. The men's arrows were long gone, but the elves had a seemingly endless supply of it, or they retrieved them quickly indeed. The war was being fought with the blade –spears, swords and long knives; and for the enemies, scimitars and black blades from Mordor.

Gandalf the White, she saw, was chanting his incantations to keep the Nazgûl away.

She was near where her uncle had fallen, arrows stuck in his chest. The Shield Maiden of Rohan fought madly.

After all, if she merely wished to die, she could do that at home. But no. she wished to prove herself, to rise once again amongst the fame and glory and honour of the House of Thengel; and  to be sung about in Lays long after her demise.

But this war thing was a tad more complicated than the carefully censored tales her brother and cousin had told her, and from her hard but civil fencing lessons. When fencing, one had to worry but with her opponent. In the battlefield, one should have an almost supernatural sense of space and danger, keep balance when walking over the dead, as well as fencing any enemy that might cross her path. And sometimes  more than one came to her.

Her little companion was lost in the confusion, and Eowyn had not the energy to care about that then. She had enemies to fell. And if the odds ensured that she would not live out the day, she just did not care.

In fact, the idea was quite appealing. She had never been afraid of pain, or death. But a cage, oh a cage was just what she could not face. And people said it was bravery…

If only they knew how easy the choice was, how liberating, how intoxicated she was with the idea of finally being free.

The elves were right. Death was indeed a Gift.

Not too distant from her, Eomer was growing worried. His soldiers had ridden hard for days, fought their way to the city in the morning, and now they had opened path with arrows, swords, and spears for the arrival of the reinforcement that, he had heard, was in fact Aragorn with the forces he managed to gather. The dunadan's army had lost much of its number in their march for the safety of the ally soldiers' gathering.

With the passing of his uncle, King Theoden, murdered on the field alongside the royal guard who kept watch over him, Eomer was now king. It was a role he had not been prepared for, having focused on the military career instead. There was a crown prince, and he had loved his cousin deeply. But he could not worry much, as in that moment the King was the military chief only, and that he could do well.

And as a soldier, he knew he should call his soldiers to retreat. They were tired, too tired, and the ocean of enemies around was not going anywhere else. Eomer was not one for leaving a deed incomplete, being in his heart an eorlinga; but he admitted they needed to restore their strength. They were not elves. They were men – very exhausted men.

Reaching for the horn hanging from his belt he blew hard, three times. Not five minutes later, Imrahil's general blew the horn of Dol Amroth too, being imitated by all the others captains. It was night already. Painstakingly slow, they marched back into the city.

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"Hey Gandalf," cried Arien, approaching him from the fifth time that day, "did Theoden not say that Merry stood in Rohan?"

"So he did," replied the wizard, with no small sense of doom.

"Guess the hobbit found his way, too," Arien pointed at two little warriors fighting side by side, none taller than a ten-year-old boy, fighting like wolves in the front lines. "Maybe we should call them back, one of them is hurt. They are fighting like madmen. I'd never guess that from the gentle, pipe-smoking fellows we met in Fangorn."

Gandalf's premonition developed to a tight ball rising up his stomach. Not because Merry  was there, but rather for the manner in which they were fighting. His long acquaintance with the race told him hobbits that mad could only mean one thing.

The Istar gazed around. Theoden had fallen, but that would not explain Pippin's wrath. It should be Merry, being his courier, to be closer to the King of the Riddermark. Aragorn was fighting alongside his relatives, while Legolas fought by Damon a good two miles away from where they stood. Elrond's sons were helping cover the men's retreat. There was only one he could not see.

Gimli.

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Damon ran back to speak with the Minister of Magic.

"Are we going back with them?" the slytherin asked. The last humans were crossing the gate. 

The renegades were a bit more confident now, having tasted the feeling of freedom and power slaying their enemy, and it was intoxicating.

"No, I think we'll stay a bit longer," said Selton, remembering Arien had stressed the need of a quick victory. They had to bother the Dark Lord, Gandalf had said, and not let him pay attention to his own lands, where the Ring of Power travelled with a little hobbit into Mountain of Fire.

"Well, if we must," said Damon with a grin. He too was fascinated with the fight, and it was a joy to fight alongside his friends, the long millennia of practice showing in the way that he held himself. "Let's battle."

Selton laughed, but inside he was worried. There was a gleam in his friend's eyes that made him uneasy.

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Arien stepped behind a line of swordfighters and massaged her arms vigorously, as well as she could. She wasn't used to fighting hours straight.

Not to mention casting Avada Kedavra gave her cramps.

The humans were entering the city -  a very sensible choice, in her opinion. Their exhaustion was showing-  but she hadn't given order to withdraw her own army yet. The renegades continued their onslaught, trying desperately to decrease the odds. There were just so many orcs, so many barbarians.

That's when she saw them.

Three elves, lost in that ocean of orcs, Southrons and renegades. Near the elves, there were more radical renegades than she'd be comfortable with. Arien knew if they were not killed by foes, an arrow would soon 'accidentally' fell them. Renegades had a bitter hatred for elves. And the same went with men. The only reason why they were fighting together was that they realised it was necessary for the survival of Antar.

With a shock, she realised had to do something about it. She reached for her own horn and blew it strongly: one, two, three times. The captains , who had heard her saying they would fight all night long, were flabbergasted at first, and voiced their objections about leaving the battlefield yet, but obliged anyway.  Arien then ran to the place they were standing.

"What are you doing? The army is going back to Minas Tirith, you'll be locked out!" Arien yelled when she finally reached them.  Running two miles wouldn't be a problem to her, but killing the orcs in her way was a bit time-consuming.

She could see Gandalf was showing signs of tiredness himself.

Elladan, or Elrohir, she could not tell them apart yet, turned to look at her for a split second, before silently nodding in the direction of Legolas, who had gone absolutely berserk; and then the dark-haired elf continued his own slaying. 

She would have yelled at Legolas rather colourfully, had not an Uruk hai jumped among them with a group of his friends, finally realising the redhead female in the group. They made some cruel comments on her gender while Arien fought them, swiftly and not at all gracefully like the other elves were handling their own orcs. She had no time –and no knowledge how – for fancy fighting. Elrohir, or Elladan, decided to be a gentleman and help her decapitate the Uruk hai. Those orcs were way stronger than they should be. There was an impression of intense hatred in his eyes that told her his anger run very deep indeed.

"LEGOLAS, YOU INSUFFERABLE GIT, GET YOUR SORRY ARSE OUT OF THIS FIELD AND INTO THAT GODDAMNED CITY RIGHT NOW!"  

One would think an elf wouldn't mind a lady swearing when he was busy fighting for his life against a bunch of Uruk hai, but Legolas did.

"That language does not become you, milady," Legolas replied coldly, without even facing her (no wonder, he had to keep his eyes trained on his foes…).

"If that got your attention, I'll live with it." She answered sarcastically.

"You should go back," said Elladan –or was it Elrohir? Arien fought back the urge to ask whom she was talking to.

He was worried for her – how cute.

"So should you. We have little time."

Soon they'd be isolated in that sea of orcs. "We must go _now,_" she tried again, urgency in her voice.

She'd never know if it was her pleading, if they went down to their senses themselves, or if it was Gandalf yelling that got them to retreat. All that she knew was that she felt stupidly happy they were going to Minas Tirith, alive and unharmed.

They had to hurry in their flight, as the friendly forces were beginning to seem too distant. Arien  wanted to run, run her legs off but she could not; there would be no guarantee they'd be behind her if she weren't there to keep an eye.

There was none even with her around. But she did not wish to think of that. When they finally joined the rest of the antarian warriors, she was so exhausted she tripped on a dead body, and a group of orcs would have cut her in pieces hadn't Elladan and Legolas kill him right off.

"Thank you –" she started, but the rest of the sentence died on her lips. Bellow her, a perfect expression of contentment and peace, with hints of a death more painful than one would like to have, was the beautiful lady who had stood by the ugly guy in Meduseld.

Eowyn. Dead.

"Madrin?" a faint whisper. The soldier in front of her, who had been her pupil, answered.

"Carry this lady back to the city, will you?"

He was clearly not happy about it, but obliged. The Headmistress was a very… _eccentric person, but she was the Headmistress, and they all loved her._

What Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas thought upon seeing Eowyn was another thing she'd never know. Even if she wanted to –which, surprisingly, she did not – she was too tired for mind reading. The way back seemed endless.

And it was not as if Arien was looking forward to meet Eomer, either.

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 When the Grey company entered the city of Minas Tirith, soldiers clad in black and white received them.

"The Lord Steward asks for a meeting with the person who claims to be the heir of Isildur." Said Dellion, the Royal Guard's chief.

Of course the dunedain understood the steward wasn't asking anything. He was ordering. Aragorn himself knew that too well, as he had served Denethor's father, Ecthelion II, using the name of Thorongil.

Denethor would definitely be a problem.

"I will be pleased to oblige." Aragorn wanted to ask his name but a deep sense of danger kept him from doing it. He was on uncertain terrain, and the ranger knew it. His kin accompanied him to the Steward's room, and the Royal Guard could not dissuade them. Estel's life was hanging on the edge of a knife, and they all knew it.

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Arien hated being locked – even in her own rooms, where she had dozens of secret passages to all main halls of the castle. But when the huge metal gate closed behind her, the innate part that was essentially a survivor was extremely grateful for the protection she was granted.

Madrin looked at her, still holding the body in his arms, silently wondering what he should do with her.  

"We have to find someone to warn Éomer," she whispered quietly. Inside those walls, she was used Westron unless she was talking with her own fellows, when antarian was used. Madrin nodded and put the dead woman's body on a stone bench  across the street.

"Okay now. Why don't you explain to me why you three were so eager to get yourselves killed?"

Elladan and Elrohir stayed silent and emotionless, while Legolas threw at her a glare filled with such cold hatred she wondered if he had been taking lessons with Damon while they travelled together.

"We were not doing such." The prince of Mirkwood replied. 

"Like hell you were not."

"That language really does not become you, milady."

"I'm not concerned with it. I'm concerned with why you guys were not going inside when all captains had blown the withdrawal signs."

"Aragorn hadn't."

"He did not have to, we were exactly ha-" she began speaking crossly, but suddenly halted. "Where is Aragorn?" she asked in shock.

"'Twas not him who fell, milady. 'Twas Gimli."

"Wait a bit, I was not talking about... Oh god, I'm so sorry, Legolas." Arien said, contrite. "But I wasn't talking about it. I asked where Aragorn is."

"How would we know? He arrived before us." Elladan inquired.

"Pyrr, did you see the newcomers' captain around?" she cried out loud. A tall, dark antarian turned to her, with a bewildered expression.

"The Royal Guard just came after him, said the Steward wanted to speak with him." The dark male answered.

"Gentlemen," she said in a dead tone, "Either you run, or you may find another friend fallen."

The elves were quick to understand the meaning of her words. In the same moment, they were running upwards to the Upper Ring.

Madrin stared at her with uncomprehending eyes, "What's the deal with Aragorn, Headmistress?"

"He's the heir to the throne of Gondor. The steward may wish to prevent him being crowned, if you get my meaning." Arien replied sombrely, trying to figure what should be the best course of action for her to take.

"You know," said Madrin – a Hufflepuff graduate from twenty years ago, "that's why I love democracy. Everyone may have a go at the Ruling, and nobody needs to resort to such uncivilised ways."

Uncivilised, indeed.

She apparated next to the first gate.

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The gates had orders to let them pass, although they had just arrived.

All three crowned princes managed to arrive in the Upper level in breakneck speed, given the fact they had inhuman velocity. The only problem was when they arrived in the Steward's palace, because the guards did not wish to let them in at all. Being in a desperate hurry, they even considered knocking the man out –even though that should raise an issue between them, more than before – when Gandalf appeared, riding Shadowfax.

And Gandalf did not mind creating an issue with the guard.

"Eru save me! He cried, "I have not the patience nor the time to discuss with you! Stay out of my way!"

The Istar  moved his staff and the guards were thrown to the wall. The wizard then strode into the palace, followed close by the elven princes. They soon found Aragorn –the yelling was quite loud.

"Now I see the reason of your coming, Mithrandir," Denethor said icily when the group broke into the throne room. Aragorn stood before the Steward, with five of his kin by his side; Faramir was on his father's left, neither of them sitting in the stewards' chairs below the King's –vacant – elevated throne. Another group of Royal Guards was in the room as well, discreetly standing near the walls.

"The reason for my aid, Denethor," said Gandalf, clearly relieved for seeing Aragorn still unharmed, "is to ensure something beautiful will yet grow when these dark times have passed."

Aragorn cleared his throat and resumed the discussion, "I have no intention of dividing the people of Gondor, but unite them. To give them hope."

"You think so?" Denethor hissed. "But I know better than that. You are all accomplices in a conspiracy to weaken Gondor."

"There is no such thing, Lord Denethor," Gandalf replied soothingly.

"I have seen it!" Denethor cried with such vehemence even the guards were taken aback. "I am no fool, _Mithrandir._ I see you moving your pawns, trying to Lord over Gondor so you can use us as a puppet to your heart's desire. You even won my son's heart and enchanted him so he would not bring me the weapon that could seal our victory, and now you bring a nobody-knows-who into my city, so you can lord through him. Do you not think I see it?"

"You were never a fool Denethor, but in this your wisdom failed you – there is no conspiracy."

"Of course not, my good wizard. But next time you try such thing, if we live to pass through this into another time, choose someone I don't know already. Thorongil and I are old acquaintances."

 "Thorongil?" asked Legolas, in a whisper.

"He used that name some time ago, when he served Ecthelion II. Father thought it should be wise for him to know the city and the people before he laid any claims." Answered Elrohir.

"This breach will only further weaken Gondor," said Faramir, speaking for the first time.

Being a second son, specially a not favoured son, the ranger rarely crossed paths with his father, preferring to make his own way discreetly. It was always Boromir who confronted Denethor, often for Faramir's sake.

And Denethor never held it against Boromir.

But Boromir was dead, Denethor had all but called Faramir a traitor, before the ranger left for Osgiliath, and as furious as the Steward might be, the claim might be true.

Actually, the main reason Faramir thought the claim may be true was _because Denethor was so mad._

"Whether your claim is true, we shall judge when we can afford the commotion. Until then, I'd ask you to unfold your banner and not give the gondorians further reason of unrest. What do you think of it, father? Is it of your liking?"

"That's a very wise decision, Faramir. But Denethor must oblige." Gandalf said.

Denethor didn't skip a beat.

"Wise indeed. The conspiracy went further than I thought. My very kin rebels against me. But I know not why this should surprise me, you were always with the wizard."

Stunned silence.

"This but seemed the right thing to do, for Gondor's sake," Faramir countered stiffly.

"And you intend to show _me_ how to rule the city?" the Steward continued. "Gondor is my responsibility. Last I looked, I was still Steward in the White city. You," he turned to Aragorn, while waved his hands calling the guards, "Will be taken hostage until I can deal with the matter, Thorongil. From all your impertinent actions, this tops it all."

Aragorn sighed and said something that got lost in the sudden cacophony of cries that filled the throne room.

"Absolutely not!" cried Legolas, while the twins shouted imprecations in elvish, and the dunadan circled their kinsman to protect him from the approaching guards, "he will not be taken captive like a criminal!"

"I am still Steward here!" Denethor shouted.

"It depends on the analysis, actually," Arien said, entering the room. "Common sense says the leader will be removed from charge if he is not acting on the behalf of his people."

Gandalf turned at the renegade with a who-on-Arda-called-you-here look.

"Hello there." She said sweetly. "Followed the screaming. Could hear it all the way from the Sixth Ring. Anyway, the thing is, could you please solve this thing quickly? The humans are throwing funny looks at one another down there, and I would prefer to keep the battle in only one front."

"Are you with them in this?" Denethor asked, wearing his former composure like a velvet cloak.

"With whom in what?"

"By the sea and the stars, Denethor, there is no conspiracy!" Gandalf lost his patience.

"Oh, I see. Someone regretting not having claimed kingship yet. But then again, Aragorn  that banner thing was ridiculous. I almost had a heart attack when I saw it."

"You know not of what you speak." Denethor hissed.

Arien threw him a look. "Whatever you say, baby. I just came by to make sure we did not work like madman for naught. Next time you decide to go hyper, my lord, lock yourself in your chambers and break some vases."

"Milady!" Faramir cried, horrified.

"Nevermind," she waved her hand at this shock, "I just came to say the tents are ready. Have some rest while you may, those guys out there  will resume their attack soon enough."

Denethor paced for a while, not relishing being cornered at all. The subtle threat was not lost on him –if he was not reasonable, he'd be thrown off the stewardship like an indigent dog. Those damned antarians had no respect for tradition, it would seem.

"You have gathered quite a team, Thorongil," he finally said. "I will let you go – for now. What my dear son said stands till I say otherwise, but I will keep vigilance."

Aragorn bit his lips to keep from saying what he wanted. Sixty years of hard work, to be received in his city like a mongrel. Maybe expecting for welcome had been wishful thinking.

Denethor pointed the door. "Now out with you, all of you. I want to be alone."

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Gandalf let out a deep sigh when they were out of the royal palace.

"That was close." Arien whispered.

"Did you absolutely _need_ to threaten him?" asked Faramir, who had joined them in the exit.

"I'm sorry lad. I hope you don't hold it against me in the future, but it seemed gentle reasoning would not work on him. And I'm not about waiting to see what happens."

Faramir digested her words in silence. It pained him to hear such, in spite of all his father had done and said to him, Denethor was always a figure to admire. It was hard to love him,  but impossible not to admire him.

"It was still rude, Arien." Gandalf protested.

"Well, what's done is done. Aragorn, why don't you go get some sleep? Damon told me the trip was rather tiring, and the welcome party was no less. Gandalf, dear, I must speak with you urgently. Faramir, the captains will meet in four hours to decide what will be done next. I'm not sure what Denethor wants, but we'll need a representative."

They took their different paths, stil discussing the events, but not before Arien pushed Halbarad aside.

"Halbarad?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Keep an eye on Aragorn. Don't let him go anywhere alone."

Halbarad nodded his comprehension, and left with his family, swift as a shadow.

"Gandalf, if you don't mind, I'm in a hurry here." She spoke next, as if she had not just implied the steward might send someone to solve the problem in a definite fashion. Sneaking her arm in his, the redhead pulled the Istar into what Aragorn knew had been a public garden. "We must discuss a couple of things before the meeting starts."

And the two wizards disappeared in the public aisle.

"I thought we had lost you, mellon," Legolas interrupted Aragorn's dark musings.

"I'm hard to kill," Aragorn half-joked.

"From now on, I'd like you to watch your back, my brother," Elladan whispered, his deep voice echoing faintly.  

"Arwen would skin us alive if anything happened to you,"  Elrohir jested, trying to lighten up the mood.

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"How bad is our situation, Gandalf?" 

"I don't know, child. Denethor is a liability – things may get rather complicated."

They walked in silence, approaching the exit of the park. It was very peaceful in that part of Minas Tirith, even if the darkness was so encompassing they could not see the sky. It seemed as if the war never existed there.

"Why did he say that he had seen it? What was there for him to see?" Arien asked after a few minutes.

"That is what worries me, child. That's what worries me."

"Do you know Eowyn was here, Gandalf?"

"No. Where is she?"

"She's dead. Found her next to the gate."

"Goodness. Poor Eomer.

"Could you give him the news? I am a stranger to him."

"I will, Arien. See you at the meeting?" the Istar turned from her, and headed for another path. Arien nodded.

"See you there."

The redhead wandered through the park for another hour, unwilling to leave the haven and face the angry face of war. She would have to meet Damon before she got some rest, but for some reason she could not bring herself to leave just yet.

She was getting restless.

The capitol of Gondor was what it was, a stone fortress in colossal proportions. If at first she had been relieved for having protection from the army of Mordor, now she could only think of how trapped she felt. Every street, gate and building was a work of stone, with a few gardens here and there to soothe the spirit. And there was nothing she needed more than that.

Four hours. That should give the mortals time enough to get what rest they could before the planning of the defence urged them together again. Arien could empathise with them now – the Ravenclaw also felt she needed a break from everything.

So she lied down on the soft grass and closed her eyes with a sigh. She felt so tired...

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"You sleep with your eyes closed."

It was the voice that brought her back from the dreamscape, even thought it was much more comfortable there than _here_. Although Arien could honestly say she had had much worse, and she was getting soft with all the comfort she had in Aryan.

Her eyes were still closed as she stretched like a cat, and her mind noticed, still fogged with sleep, that the voice seemed to need an answer. _That's ridiculous, she thought. _Everybody sleeps with their eyes closed.__

Except...

Bingo. A pair of azure eyes pierced hers when she finally deigned to open them, and she found herself lost in the absolute perfection of the moment. Except the moment was not perfect. There was something behind the blue, something dark and lonely and broken, something that called for her like a magneto. She recalled a night like this, very long ago, one of the many that had changed her life.

Arien had been wandering in the woods behind Mrs. Weasley's house, enjoying the pure bliss that was being in contact with her element without looking over her shoulders or measuring her actions in fear of being discovered. To her, the woods would always be more than just good company, mysterious or even friendly beings. It was a place where she could be herself.

Then she felt the calling. It had been him – Arien was pissed with Sirius because he insisted on denying his feelings for her because she was younger, but she felt so much loneliness and desperation that she could do nothing but go and help. In whatever way she was able to. At the moment, a little company and conversation seemed enough.

"_Such dark thoughts, Sirius."_

_"Well, I have a name to live up to, don't I?"_

_"Names suck," she had answered, thinking of what dark meanings could be drawn from his name and of all that should be expected of her if her parentage was unclosed. _

_And then, when he was about to leave, the conversation turned to an altogether different path._

_"What happened?" he asked, pointing her hand.  
  
"Nothing dramatic, really. I just backed down." She spoke nonchalantly.  
  
"How so?"  
  
"I don't fancy the thought of being anybody's slave. He thought he owned me, and I dumped him. That simple." _

This had led to that, and they saw the end of the night with a confrontation that had finally broken the last barriers between them but one – which would take a few more years to be broken.

She had never been quite able to shield herself from the needy, broken people, whoever they might be. Slytherins, Aurors, Unspeakables, renegades – she had always had that urge to reach out and comfort them, for she could literally feel their pain as her own.

The similarity hit her like a bludger. She sat up and faced him.

"I only sleep like that when I'm extremely tired. The last couple of days have been chaotic here."

Legolas bend down and sat on the ground himself, getting eye level with her –which was very fortunate, because the elf was _very_ tall. "I had already noticed it when we were at Rohan. How did you get here with the reinforcements so fast?"

Apparently, he had gone from silent mode to trifle-talking-rather-than-what-I-really-want-to-talk-about.

Arien lied back on her shoulders, an instinctive sensual poise, and regarded him with amused eyes. "You didn't actually thought I'd let Aragorn just order me home like a baby, did you?"

The ghost of a smile appeared in his lips, as he replied.

"Not really. Although seeing you here with an army did surprise me. I recall you said your country laid far in the east?"

"It does, but I had an unholy haste. I'm afraid I ruined my horse." She said with fake contrition, and then looked at him – really looked. 

"If you were trying to be alone, why did you awake me?"

Legolas took some time to answer, disturbed by the accuracy of her perception. The prince had always prided himself on being able to shield his thoughts and emotions from others, even when those others were elves. Only a handful of carefully chosen friends had access to the depth and width of his heart.

"I'm not entirely sure," he replied, surprised because it was true. He knew not why. Maybe it had something to do with her risking her life to shake him out of his furious trance and into the safety of Minas Tirith.

"I'm not complaining." She said, with the same emotion on her voice. "I just thought it unlikely you should turn to me of all people. You were rather suspicious of us in Rohan, I seem to recall."

"'Twas foolish to disturb you, milady. I apologi-" 

he could not conclude because she placed one hand upon his shoulder and another upon his lips. 

"Stay."

Legolas stared at her eyes, in the darkness of the Mordor's spell, their skin glowed ever so slightly. He was trying to pry her thoughts and intentions, she could tell.

"There is something I had not told you before," she whispered, removing her hand from his lips but not from his shoulder. It seemed to burn her, and it had been a very long time since she had felt so attracted by someone. Yet the prince of Mirkwood had something so utterly _good,_ so pure and fresh and loyal, she was drawn to him, and felt as if she could trust him. She could try.

It wasn't as if he wouldn't find out soon, anyway. She might as well be the one to tell him. An elf like him wouldn't take deception lightly.

His eyes assumed another quality –attentive, careful, calculating. She had his full attention now, but it seemed as if he had drawn himself back, and left only his cool mask instead. Arien realised with a jolt she resented the exchange.

"I'm a _peredhil._"

Legolas only released a deep breath, and laughed. "'Twas only that? That's certainly odd, but nothing to be ashamed of. Why have you not spoken of it before? I'd be delighted to hear the tale if you do not mind."

Arien was absolutely shocked for a moment. Surely Middle-earth hadn't changed _that much in three thousand years? Could that be a plot to get her off her guard? But that couldn't be – there was no malice radiating from him._

"Legolas, we all are."

That did the trick. He turned to face her with an unbelieving expression and asked quietly , "But how could it be?"

"Apparently you did not keep a close eye on everybody in the First Age," she replied simply.

He kept his scrutiny for a moment, then stated nonchalantly, "That should explain why you have different traits."

For lack of anything better to do, Arien smiled at him.

"Why didn't you tell us  before?" the prince asked, deciding that speaking of anything else was better than examining his feelings about the battle where his dwarf friend had fallen.

"I did not know how it would be accepted."

"You thought we would think less of you?" he inquired disbelieving.

"Who knows," she answered shyly.

"Why did you think so little of us?" he asked quietly.

"It's difficult, really... 'Tis the first time we unclosed it. We always kept it quiet."

He seemed to digest the news for a moment, then took her hands in his.

"You should have told us."

There was nothing remotely flirtatious in his gesture, except that she suddenly felt uncomfortable. If Legolas did not want to discuss Gimli's passing, fine, but there was no need to make little of her people's most deeply ingrained fear.

"Well, we all have secrets." She dodged with a smile, which quickly faded. When she resumed eye contact. The pull was getting stronger.

He said something, but Arien wasn't paying attention to the words anymore. The hand that had rested in his rose to touch his temples lightly. 

If it was her who felt thus, she'd be nowhere as restrained.

"Would you allow me to alleviate your burden, Legolas?"

"You already are, hiril nîn," he replied in awe.

She only smiled and pulled his head down upon her lap. After a few minutes stroking his hair, Arien felt his body relax under her ministrations. She never expected him to cry around her, he was too reserved for that. Legolas just laid there, receiving the light caresses she offered his scalp, whilst listening to the nonsense talk she quietly whispered.

"We must go now." She said when the four hours had passed. 

He heaved off the ground and offered her a hand, and then they silently walked back to the Steward's Palace.

And it was the day and the night, the second day of the siege.

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**A.N.: **

**Hiril Nîn –** my lady in sindarin. 

**And it was the day and the night…- **a bit of cross reference here… it should refer to both Biblical verses of the Genesis and the last chapter where I used the same phrase.


	11. Chapter ten: Pelennor – Part II

**A.N**: on with the show!

The so-called fluffy stuff at the end is not the fluffiest of all things, though… it is what I think would be the only explanation for my desired goal. I _most humbly_ think I achieved it. My only doubt in the subject is if I should have separated the romance (At long last!) part from the rest, but I decided to let it where it is. 

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Chapter Ten: Pelennor – Part II 

_"I would die for you,_

_walk the wire for you,_

_I would lie for you_

_Yeah, I'd die for you_

_You know it's true_

_Everything I do_

_I do it for you" Everything I do (I do it for you), Bryan Adams._

_"Not that I loved Caesar less, _

_but that I loved Rome more." _

_Julius Caesar, Shakespeare._**__**

****

_@ Minas Tirith, Gondor. March 16th of 3019._

01:00 h.

She almost made the gruesome mistake of walking into the meeting side by side with him. At the last minute, she sensed her companions inside the palace, and told him something about searching for Selton.

She knew Selton was already in the room with the others, but the spirits were rather exalted for her to provoke them so.

When Arien entered the meeting room, a small crowd was there already. Aragorn and his cousin Halbarad, the sons of Elrond, Legolas, Gandalf, Imrahil, Forlong, Éomer and Faramir, Selton her second in command, plus other eight people she couldn't recognise.

The council of the captains had begun.

They exchanged theirs statistics, how many people they still had and discussed what should be the best course of action. When they were done, Gandalf explained to them the Quest of the Ring, and how a couple of brave little hobbits were presently sneaking into the very core of Mordor to destroy the One.

"... I'd feel better if we could distract Sauron's attention so he would not look too closely in his own lands." He ended his speech.

"We are now cornered and struggling for our own survival, Mithrandir," Imrahil interrupted with much practised diplomatic ease. "he has us all exactly where he wanted, and we have no conditions of doing much more than defending our own position."

Gandalf turned his head, looking at all present. Selton nodded his negative, gravely.

"No, Gandalf. We are few, and cannot eliminate all the strength of Mordor in a day, or even two. It will take some time, and long days of fighting."

"Dawn to dusk, probably," Arien interrupted. "Or longer."

Gandalf sighed deeply. Aragorn hung his head low.

"I was wishing we could alleviate the Ringbearer's burden," Isildur's heir said in a whisper. Legolas tilted his head as if he was about to look at Arien, but didn't. 

"We will do all that we can do," Faramir cut him off. "But lord Selton is right, this siege will be long. _Although_..."  

"_Although_ what?" Gandalf asked. Faramir had everybody's attention now.

"There are paths under the mountain, which are both old and forgotten."

Silence reigned for a few minutes.

"I am torn," Gandalf said, "For leaving the city would be vulnerable, but staying, all would be lost."

"Not all," Arien said. "If the passages are safe they would lead us many miles from here, and then we'd have to go all the way around and thus lose many days. I say we stay a few days more. Then we will be able to diminish the odds or even defeat the army standing before the gates, and then an army will be able to leave using the straightest path. I daresay the delay would be the same."

"And even if Sauron gets back the ring, there will be resistance for many millennia. He does not know us yet, but now we know him, and we won't stay impassible." Selton said.

Arien beamed. _Her babies were growing!_

"How many days would that be?" Gandalf asked.

Arien looked at Selton.

Selton looked at Arien.

**'_how long do you think it'd take for us to clean that mess?" Selton asked._

_**'Two, three days. Maybe four. We'd need to attack full force, as long as we could. Say three days.'_

"Give us three days." The Gryffindor pronounced.

"You think you can defeat them in three days?" Éomer asked disbelieving.

"No, but it should be enough to give you a _chance_." Arien stated.

"I think it should be best," Faramir agreed. "There are many secret paths in the wild that lead to Mordor, and the journey should be faster if we travel in a straight line. If the lady says we could travel in three days, I'd tally the suggestion."

"We cannot endure a journey to Mordor as it is now," Éomer said. "Not if we aim to arrive there with strength enough to poise as a threat."

"Selton, were the archers replaced?" Arien asked her friend while the captains discussed the pros and cons of going to Mordor in three days.

"Yes, they are resting now. The new group has been on position for six hours now."

"Maybe we should replace them a bit faster. Say, every six hours. Let them rest two hours before joining the battle again."

Selton thought a bit. "I'll tell them so."

"That's settled then," Gandalf said, looking as if he wanted to go to Mordor that minute. "We wait three days, and leave then."

"We'll resume the offensive in two hours." The redheaded said. "Feel free to join when you have gathered enough rest.

"We will not stay looking from the window while you fight this war, milady!" Eomer cried outraged.

"What Arien meant is, you should be exhausted when you leave the battlefield, not when you arrive," Selton soothed him.

In fear the humans would push their soldiers against their obvious exhaustion, Arien gave orders to rest till dawn.

God knows she needed the rest herself.

Although she had the feeling something was really wrong, beyond her grasp, Arien went to bed and slept like the dead for the next three hours.

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Sauron kept his grudges for long.

For many yens, he had carefully planned his revenge. The little confrontation in Dol Guldur had certainly been frustrating, as he did not wish to be thrown away so easily –but in spite of its ideal localisation, Sauron did not have the time to reinforce the structure to make it as strong as Barad-dur had once been. So he returned to his old fortress, and there he attracted all that could help him regain his rightful place as Lord of all Middle Earth.

It was bad enough that he had been driven away from Dol Guldur. It was even worse that a halfling currently held his Ring in Saruman's dungeons, and the wizard did not respond to his calls anymore. He'd sent the Wraiths several times to find it, and every time it escaped. And now, to increase his aggravation further, Minas Tirith had received enough bolstering to resist a long time.

And how on Ëa those elves managed to arrive there anyway? Sauron had seen to it that the elven strongholds that might _think about aiding would be too busy for that._

Not that it mattered much in the end. The city would eventually fall – he knew it, for he had planned it. Even without his Ring, Sauron was a master manipulator.

He had manipulated many before he had it forged.

Sauron could wait – to some extent. After all, the ring would corrupt whomever held it now and return to him in the end. It was just that he did not wish to, not with Isildur's heir alive and walking under the sun.

_After all he had done to end the accursed line!_

His seeing stone glowed indigo in the dark room, and the maia knew his long-time opponent was up for another round. For decades now they struggled with one another, setting their wills to see the other's soul and minds.

But Denethor was only naïve enough to believe he could ever win. He could, at best, delay the failure – it would be wise to stop while he had had the chance. But he kept coming, sometimes once a year, sometimes once a month.

And through that _Palantír,_ Sauron read much. The Steward was finally defeated. He would yet cause segregation amongst his enemies and make his victory sweeter.

_Split and rule._

The maia sent his servants to wherever Antar was. He'd left a corner uncovered –and after millennia fighting the elves, he knew how deadly that could be.

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All inside Minas Tirith that could wield a sword gathered near the Great Gate at dawn. But the break had been as good to them as it had been to the southrons and orcs. 

Once again the enemies met in Pelennor, and once again the fighting lasted all day long whilst the corpses pilled on the ground, making it difficult to move. There was little or no chance to recover the wounded, and thus few returned to the White City that could not walk on their own legs.

The southrons retorted to using the trebuchet once more, still trying to break the gate that remained stubbornly intact under their onslaught. 

And a couple of hours after the setting sun, Arien ordered a retreat.

This time Damon did find her to ask what was going on.

The gates closed in behind her when Damon grabbed her hand and pulled her to the next reasonably deserted corner of the neighbourhood.

"What is this? Why did you ordered a retreat?" he asked coolly.

"_Nice to see you, too_, Damon."

He didn't even bat an eyelash. "What happened?"

"I am tired."

"You can't be impossibly tired, we have only been fighting for a day," the slytherin snapped.

"I will _not _exhaust us without need. Damon, those people out there are _not_ soldiers, okay? They _volunteered_, and I won't push them out of their limits just to look good. We can deal with the break. We're doing a great job here." Arien defended herself, feeling offended in the way he was questioning her judgement.

Damon stared hard at her, before looking away. "Sorry, love. I just wanted this all to be over soon."

Arien smiled slightly. "It will take a little longer than a few hours, Damie."

"I missed you," he declared to her surprise.

"Good," she grinned. "maybe now you give me the valour I deserve."

"I'm not sure you want to receive what you deserve." He grinned too.

"You sneak!" she pretended to be outraged but laughed hard when he embraced her and swirled her around.

For that one moment, all was right with the world.

The enemy kept bombarding them all night long, and they continued shooting arrows in the dark till the sun rose again. And then everything started again, with a new fury.

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March 19th of 3019 T.A.

The third and final day of their deadline did not bring any hope.

Sauron was always one step ahead of them, in every decision they had made, he was there before. Although the allies of Gondor had fought valiantly day and night with few hours for the inevitable rest, when the horns blew two hours before dawn signalling the time for a new offensive, the Friendly Forces found that the dark Lord had sent reinforcements to his troops.

And with that amount of foes before them, they had no way but waiting more or risking the mountain paths. But there was no way in which a decent force could leave through the secret passages without being caught much before they could reach Mordor, so they stood.

"Why aren't we finished already, Selton?" Damon asked when the horns called them back, a few hours before midnight. "We could reveal ourselves and get done with this quickly."

"I do not think that should be wise," Selton countered, rubbing his chin. Gray eyes stared into his slytherin friend as he explained his point of view. "I now see this Sauron is much more powerful than we first believed him to be. If we reveal ourselves to him while he can yet do harm, he will stop what little worry he has now with his other foes and concentrate his malice on us and on Antar. No, " he shook his head, "We must conceal ourselves for as long as we can and not let him realise what they are dealing with until he is weak and powerless."

"It appears that we have switched places, my friend," Damon smiled. "It is I who am rushing into the fight and you who are thinking your way out of it. But you are one of the wise among us, yet I have much to learn."

Selton clasped his classmate's arm. "You have much in yourself, Damie, that you do not know yet. But this is a new experience for all of us and it is natural that we are still getting used to this. Just do not forget that our enemy is not only powerful but full of malice and have corrupted many people in his ascension to power. Beware."

"I will try to hold myself, my friend. It is only this stalemate unnerves me."

"It unnerves me also. I can't wait for this to be over, but we must wait."

"Speaking of which, have you seen Arien? I haven't talked to her since yesterday."

"She's hiding from me, I guess. I'm afraid the little one has very little patience with this old renegade. I have driven her mad with questions and plans and suggestions, and she took some time off to recover her poise."

Damon sneered, "Arien loses her patience over the smallest things. When we were travelling companions we fought nearly everyday." _After Helm's Deep, that is._

Selton arched one blond eyebrow. "Oh, and I thought that was a prerogative of mine."

"It is not." Damon said with amusement, and took leave to go take his shift at the archer's line.

"Interesting. I wonder what exactly were those _smallest things_ you fought about?" Selton mused to himself, before going to meet Gandalf.

Very nice fellow, that Gandalf. Selton was growing extremely fond of him. It was not everyone who could actually give him some challenge at the chessboard.

..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::.

Arien sat at the roots of the tree with her heart beating wildly. She didn't even know why she was doing that.

It had started out quite innocently, actually. They met at the garden and talked when he was upset. Then the next day she happened to be walking at the paths again and he was there, sitting up on a branch. That happened every night after the battle was called to a halt, they would refresh themselves and then go to their park to walk and talk.

Only if Damon found out about it, it would go all the way down the hill. Damie was _slightly_ xenophobic.

Speaking of which, opinions in the antarian army were divided. Some of the renegades were starting to see the world beyond Antar's walls with other eyes, realising the elves and men were not the monsters they pictured before. Some decided to wait and see how things developed with more examples to draw a conclusion from. Others were too caught up in the old prejudices and couldn't let go of the grudge.

Damon belonged to the last group. Arien could see it in his eyes when they were walking around Minas Tirith or met either Legolas, Elladan or Elrohir. Which was stupid, because technically the twins were peredhil also, even if Arien had issued specific orders not to call them so. It was best not to make a mess out of it, they had other things to think of.

She had chosen a light dressrobe for that night, even though she could not say the reason why. It would complicate everything. And yet, there she was .

_And it's not as if I am in a V neck red dress or something. It's just that my uniform was dirty and I washed it. Right?_

"Mae govannen," he greeted. Legolas was always so polite and proper. He had taken time to lecture her about language when they were in the middle of the battle and he was practically berserk with grief.

"Greetings," she replied simply. She would not be the one entering a good manners contest with an elven prince. _No way_.

They sat in silence for some time, whilst Legolas stole one furtive glance to her odd clothes and then stared straight ahead as the gentleman he was. Arien, however, was enjoying herself immensely with his curiosity.

"Come on, you may ask. I know you want to."

"Ask what, my lady?"

_wish I was, Legolas._

"Don't be daft," she teased him. He needed some joy in his life, that was for certain, and everybody was busy with the war. This was not a joyful time, but she could make it more bearable for him. "About the clothes. I know you're curious about them."

"You assume to know what goes in my mind?" he asked, making an effort to be once again the light being he once was. There was so much death around. He could smell it all the time.

"This, my lord, is a dressrobe. It's customary in the lands I live in. Very practical."

He had removed his tunic and was clad in his breeches and chemise. "Oh." He whispered, as if he had not been dying to find out what the _heck_ that thing was. "Practical for what, pray tell?"

"For a great many things, Legolas. For many things." She replied mischievously, congratulating herself in the way his cheeks warmed ever so slightly.

"Hiril nîn, I do not think that..."

_'oh shit, he got it wrong. Well, actually he got it right, but...'_

"Don't flatter yourself, Legolas. My uniform was dirty and I got it washed. This is comfortable, easy to pack and was available. Simple as that."

'Great, now I'm talking about laundry with the guy I fancy. And someone ever believes I got sorted into Ravenclaw? I should have been a **Hufflepuff.'**

Legolas smiled. "It was indeed improper of me to assume things, milady. I apologise."

"Arien."

"_Umin hanyalyë_..." he whispered, in quenya again. Sometimes he forgot and spoke with her thus, but Arien didn't mind because she chose to think he was comfortable with her.

"_Man Úhanyanelye_?"

"Why you said that? I do not understand."

"I do not like people calling me lady. I am not one, so why bother." She explained as if it was the most rational thing in the world.

"You lead your people in this war." He stated seriously.

Light dawned.

"Oh, no! Legolas, I thought I had explained before. In Antar, leadership is a job you undertake when needs arise, in the senate, in the Royal board. This is the first time ever that Antar went to war and it just happened that  they do not have experience in it."

"But you do."

"Adar was a general. Soldiers coming in and out of the house all the time. Loads of books about warcraft –and one  couldn't let a book next to me and have it remain untouched. It is thus to this day." She smiled at the memories. She could have said she learned the most in the Wizarding World war, but how could she break the news to him? It was bad enough that she belonged to a nation of xenophobic freaks she'd take years to smooth down. No need to make things more complicated. "So I grew up learning about the great campaigns. Dad would have me sit on his lap and listening to the battles he had fought, or his forbears had."

"It is strange that a man would tell his daughter such things.  Wasn't he afraid you might not take it well?"

"No. He was only afraid I did not know how to recognise danger. '_knowledge is power', my father used to say. He wanted me to know what to do if need came."_

She wanted to ask about _his _father, but did not have heart to break the fragile trust they had established.

"A wise man."

"He did not need to be wise. He was my father, and I adored him, that was all that mattered to me. But yes, he knew much about life. And had a heart worth his weight in mithril. Although I'm biased in this matter."

He smiled faintly. "Maybe we should head back."

Arien felt her heart sink. It only figured she would fall in love with someone who saw her as a very gifted, bright person, but still a child. _Yet again._

Maybe she should check if that Curse the Valar cast upon Feanor's house had not passed to other people in the exile. That amount of bad luck just couldn't be _natural_.

They walked in silence to the paths that led to the exit of the park. The night was calm in spite of the Nazgûls'  attempts to invade the city. It was so peaceful there, with no stressed captains or anxious soldiers or know-it-all ex-students questioning her all the time. No. She would not leave her haven so soon.

"You may go if you wish , Legolas," she said quietly. There was no need to bind him to a tradition they started carelessly and that clearly didn't hold any appeal to him anymore. But she was not about to leave that little place yet. "I want to stay here for some time."

"Do you tire of my company so soon?" he asked, and it was really funny. She was thinking the opposite.

"I thought it was you who got tired."

"No, I just thought you might be needed."

"I'm not _needed._ They just want to yell at someone," she said bitterly. "It is so quiet here. I can almost believe the world is at peace tonight."

"I rather doubt the world will ever be at peace again." Legolas stated, clearly referring to the seemingly endless army that went against them like the tides of the ocean every day. "We gave him time to plan his revenge. The dark lord has everything arranged now to cover all the lands in darkness."

"We are not defeated yet, Legolas."

"No, we are not." He said, taking her arm and pulling her back to the heart of the garden again. "We must keep faith in each other. The Lady of Lothlórien said there was hope whilst the Company was true. The Company is still true."

"You met her?" Arien stammered. '_Of course he'd meet her, silly. They went into Lothlórien after Moria.'_

"Yes," his eyes lit up and Arien found a new wave of rage swelling inside of her because it was her goddamned aunt who made him so, "she's beautiful, Arien. Beautiful as the morning rising clear after a long cold night, or so it seemed to my grievous heart then."

"Hmmm mmm." She replied simply, amusing him to no end. Full of surprises, the little one was, and yet every once in a while he had to restrain from smacking his forehead (it would be extremely un-elfish-like) after she said or did something, from the blatancy of it. Like right then.

Arien found the hand upon her arm was warm and soft, side by side they walked back to the core of the public garden, none talking. Peace was too fragile a thing to be disturbed with trifle chatting.

_They both understood it._

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Aragorn watched Minas Tirith and the hell assembled before it. He could blame no one but Sauron, really. Every man (and elf) in the city had fought valiantly against Mordor's army, and against despair. 

It only figured the lord of Barad-dûr had plenty  of pawns to spare, whilst they had not.

"We cannot pass through, Aragorn." Halbarad said to his cousin, who he had followed like a shadow since their arrival at the white city.

"I know," Aragorn answered. "Although that knowledge does nothing to lessen the uneasiness in my heart. I wish I could do something for Frodo."

Halbarad put a hand upon Aragorn's shoulder, in a rare gesture of affection between men so tough and worn out, understanding his love for the periannath because he too had grown very fond of the little ones.

"All we can do for the hobbit is to make Sauron worry so much about us he does not look into his own land."

Aragorn did not reply because, as much as he loathed it, Halbarad was right. he could not leave Minas Tirith unguarded, even if he had not sworn to Boromir that he would save the city. It was unlikely that they even got close to Mordor, as things stood then.

The hammer's fall had been hard indeed.

"You could do with some rest," Halbarad stated after it was clear his kin wouldn't say a word. Aragorn knew Halbarad would not rest until he did.

"You are right, of course. We'll have a long day ahead of us."

Together they walked back to the city, to find what sleep they could in the Grey Company encampment. Battle would begin again before dawn.

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Denethor covered the _Palantír_ and crawled back to where an armchair was, exhausted.

After he had disclosed the treachery of Thorongil and his allies, he had spent much time alone. Gondor was virtually in the hands of his son anyway, and Faramir sympathised with his rival. So the Steward decided to try and find out whatever intelligence he could from his secret weapon.

The seeing stone.

He had battled the lord of Mordor many hours, and at long last he was defeated. Denethor, not Sauron.

The steward now saw past his presumption and pride, acknowledging the fact that the maia had been leading him like a puppet, and that through him The Nameless One had gathered vital information about Gondor's allies and about Minas Tirith itself.

Because of him, Minas Tirith would fall.

No, the city had been doomed from the beginning.

And yet. If only he had not tried to see Sauron's plans, Sauron wouldn't have seen his, and they'd still have a chance. Wouldn't they?

It no longer mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

Denethor didn't even bother with a bath or food. There were a few things he needed to do, and his son Faramir was on top of the list. They needed to talk.

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March 20th, early morning.

Selton knew whatever diplomatic advance they managed to achieve was being slowly mined by the circumstances. They were slipping apart, all of them.

Most of the humans understood and appreciated the efforts they were doing to defend the city, however there were some who regarded them with mistrust and resentment. Even when nobody could rationally blame them if Sauron kept sending reinforcements to keep them under siege. It was as if the dark Lord knew all their moves beforehand, and many lives were lost that way, increasing the mortals' restlessness.

But for that same reason, division was growing among the antarians as well. Even though Arien's daring strategies so far had prevented them from a bitter defeat, many began to contest the wisdom of letting a two hundred something lead them into war.

And surprisingly, some of her close friends supported that contestation. Namely Damon, who claimed Arien was being partial and not acting in Antar's best interest. The slytherin said they should sacrifice the human city and focus all their might on saving Antar, leaving the other people to save themselves as they could.

Arien said Antar wouldn't stand a chance if Sauron could concentrate all his attention on them, and had no other enemy. Not to mention their immediate neighbours, the Easterlings, were already Sauron's allies.

Selton himself was rather confused. He felt something lingering underneath his friends' rift but could not know what it was because both kept their minds wide shut now. He considered himself a moderate minded  person, and so far he could only be amazed at the might Sauron was unleashing upon Gondor. If that was what the dark lord could do while fighting in many fronts, what couldn't he do when all other lands had fallen?

And it was so obvious Middle Earth was in its autumn. Everywhere he looked, Selton could see only the echoes of a past glory, and the desire to live up to that past. And they were truly amazing, truth to be told. Selton had never dreamed to find so much valour in the hearts of men. But it was all fading. They were fading.

Funny, the mortals thought that they were fading too. But he knew Antar was in the peak of its glory.

With a heavy heart the Gryffindor once again headed for battle, leading his company to the front line of the combat. The renegades would fight with no restraint from then on. There was an unspoken agreement not to stop tonight.

For Antar.

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"Father?" Faramir asked in a whisper. He had not seen Denethor in days, and that greatly bothered him, so a little family approach might not be totally uncalled for. The Valar knew Faramir did not wish to stay in his father's dark side. The steward had locked himself up his quarters and not seen anyone, claiming that they had conspired to get Minas Tirith and could very well handle the trouble on their own.

The youngest son of Denethor was scared. From the dark shadowy corners of the library emerged something that only distantly remembered his proud father, now a broken man. He felt the sting of unshed tears in his eyes, and could not remember when he had last cried.

Maybe when his mother died, but that was really a long time.

"Come here, son." Denethor said, his own voice husky and cracking. His son obliged, and they stood face to face. "This... this will not be easy for me, so I'll make it quick."

The youngest son of Denethor was downright terrified now.

"I am sorry, son." The words left out forcefully, as if the older man was barely containing himself. "I'm sorry for what I told you and I'm sorry for all I've done to you also. It's too late now. It's just too late now. The world of men will be destroyed, and ---"

'_Could I do it_?' Denethor thought, looking at the expectant face of his youngest offspring, standing before him with warm eyes after all he had done to him, over and over. '_Should I burden him with my faults?'_

No. He did not have the right. In the end, the son of Ecthelion II could not fight a lost battle. He had fought, long and hard, but only for as long as he still had hope. Now that all hope was gone, he did not wish to see the end. And he would not stain his son with the knowledge of his errors.

"There is still hope, father." Faramir answered, his voice deep and rich with emotion he finally, at long last, allowed himself to show before his father. It was as if a veil had been lifted and they could, if not speak their minds, but show each other their feelings.

And in the end, Denethor was too much of a coward to destroy that little glimmer he saw in his son's eyes. Despair would come soon enough. '_Let him dream while he may.'_

Fate was rather ironic, the steward thought.

"Not for me, I'm afraid." He replied simply. "I will ride with you today."

Faramir knew his father could – expertingly –wield a sword, but had decided not to in case an foul incident took Minas Tirith its leader. Being a very intelligent man, Faramir grasped the meaning instantly, and it left him speechless.

"I'd rather not had offended you now," Denethor continued, and his highly emotional speech cleared off any doubts Faramir might have had. "But I cannot change what was. I can only hope you can forgive me someday."

"I do, father." The young man stated. Both had tears in their eyes.

"You even had the nerve to stand against me when I was wrong. I am so proud of you."

But of course, Denethor would only allow emotion go so far. They were both grown men, after all. "Let's go to battle. I now can hear the horns of the gondorians."

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Legolas clasped his armguards and filled his quiver. It was a hard thing to do, preparing to battle, without his friend Gimli to jest with. And Aragorn was always so busy and troubled. They still met before and after the battle, but when it started, no one could really control where they stood. War had a will of its own.

Not that he could not understand. Aragorn was friends with Gimli also, and many others who had fallen in that war.

It was just that everything was so dark around him. Death, death everywhere. Elves did not know how to cope with that. Of course, the possibility of being slain in battle existed, or having their hearts broken. But the fact that he would never see his mortal friends again was excruciatingly painful.

He had become too fond of them. But really, how could he not? When he and Aragorn became friends, it was almost as if it was destined to be. They understood each other so well. The quiet, passionate young man matured so quickly sometimes Legolas had a tough time remembering Aragorn was no elf.  When Boromir first insulted Aragorn at the Council Legolas could have gladly beaten some sense into the man had Aragorn not asked him to leave it be. Well, maybe not really beaten, as he was in mission representing his realm, but that sure had been tempting. During their journey he had learnt to admire and love the gondorian, and Boromir's arguments with Aragorn had became what his and Gimli's had been – a way to exercise their fondness. And yet, Legolas could see time working in the lines that quickly appeared in what was once young skin.

With Pippin in the house of healing – nothing serious, thank Elbereth, and hobbits sure healed extremely fast – Merry being courier to Eomer after Theoden died, Gandalf working to keep the Nazgûl away, Aragorn busy trying to lead his men and keeping himself alive in spite of what clearly seemed to be the Steward's best wishes, and the twins alternating from fighting like mad at Pelennor and working non stop as healers when withdrawal was ordered, he felt rather lonely.

Lonely fighting for the future of Middle earth, with his family apart from him and all his friends busy elsewhere. Of course, being the crowned prince of Mirkwood he understood that duty came first. They all had people who looked up to them as the models of their courage.

"Aragorn," he said when he finally reached his human friend. They always fought side by side, even if they did get lost in the chaos later. "Did you see Elladan and Elrohir?"

"When I last saw them, Elladan was off to court some antarian lady. Elrohir went with him to assure her brothers wouldn't wipe the floor with him." Aragorn said with a smile, clearly finding it absurdly funny that the twins would find some joy in those troubled times.

Legolas sniggered. "Those two. Always in for a bit of trouble, when their father wasn't looking."

"I know you have something for adventure as well, Legolas." Aragorn said, apparently with his foster brothers on this. "I have known you for the better part of sixty years now."

"And you think you can decipher me already, don't you?"

"I can read some signs, Legolas. Men and elves are not so very different in this, "Aragorn said in a rather knowing tone.

"Whatever do you mean by that?" he tried to appear affronted, but his eyes darting to check a certain redheaded peredhil might have destroyed the desired effect.

Not that he was really courting her or something. They were friends. Legolas just did not wish anyone to get the wrong impression.

Aragorn merely laughed. It was good to hear his laugh, and Legolas laughed too, for the mere joy f being with his friend.

A horn blew three times and the gates were opened. The armies within Minas Tirith forced their way into Pelennor and started the old game. None of them saw Denethor riding with Faramir, because none held any kind of outer sign that might give them away to the enemy; and none of them saw when Imrahil of Dol Amroth was slain when opening a path into the battlefield. Both got lost in the task of remaining alive.

Unlike the previous days, there was not returning home at midnight. While the mortals kept coming back every once in a while to rest a couple of hours,  the elves did not return to the safety of Minas Tirith's Rings till dusk of the other day.

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March 21st.

At last Damon could see some progress. At last he could see his people showing what stuff they were made of.

_He was so proud_.

While he parried and blocked and attacked he could not focus on the ever-present feeling of doom he got whenever he saw Arien. They had had diverging opinions before, although, truth be told, not in this scale. But he still loved her dearly, as he knew she loved him, so nothing truly mattered. Damon knew she would understand his position someday.

_She had an awfully soft heart, after all._

They had been shielding themselves from each other for a long time, but there was nothing to do about it because he didn't really wish her to see some of the things he had been thinking. He pretended not to notice when she wandered away, when she defended the outsiders. Why on Middle Earth had she to be so damn protective? Couldn't she just give up on those losers and focus on Antar instead? Couldn't she see she was using them to fight a lost battle?

_She was so damned stubborn!_

That issue would have to be solved. His seventh sense kept alerting him that something was wrong, that he was about to lose something. That feeling alone was slowly driving him mad with dread. If only Damon could _know what was wrong!_

But as they showed those orcs exactly how tough they were in Antar, all he could focus was on his opponents. The charms worked fine, but they could not save your life if you did not help as well.

..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::.

Damon had cornered her right after she reached the safety of the walls. The git did not even had the decency to do it in a quiet, secluded place either. They had argued right there and then – although he did have the decency of speaking antarian. God only knew what the men would do if they knew what the two renegades were talking about.

What started as a row developed into a huge power struggle. She should have known better and watched her back, no matter how much she respected Slytherins and their cunning, there was no denying they were a dangerous lot. But so was she, when inflamed enough.

It had been Selton who was the voice of reason and separated the both of them. Most of her alumni were shocked to discover that their lovely, caring, understanding Headmistress had claws and knew how to use them –and so had Damon. (_Why on earth would they be shocked about? She never claimed to be an angel! And she even hinted that she had been in one or two dangerous missions for the Ministry of Magic_.) after the confrontation her nerves were so frayed Arien had taken a long time meditating to grasp her wits back.

Thank God for Soothing Serum, and thank Dumbledore for getting her to write journals. The things were extremely therapeutic. Not to mention handy. Only after she put in the paper her row in all the gruesome details, that she remembered Legolas would be dead worry by then, probably thinking she was hurt or killed.

Or, with all the commotion Damon just created, something worse yet – he'd come looking for her.

..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::.

_She was late._

It had happened before, with all the leading duties that her position held, but now she was _late_.

Legolas had dropped Aragorn at the house of healing, practically kicking and screaming (Aragorn, not Legolas!), to treat a shoulder wound. When Elladan saw his foster brother and brother-in-law-to-be, all he said was '_healers make the worst patients.' After the Lord of Imladris assured him his friend would survive all right and that Legolas would do better not crowding the healing house, Legolas headed off to the park at the sixth ring and waited._

And waited.

His mind began to fill with images of her lying dead somewhere in the battlefield, or worse. It had happened before, he heard it whispered by the elders a couple of times, what had happened to she-elves when the world was young and uncivilised, and battle was frantic and invaded home. A fate considered worse than death was inflicted upon some of them, and their broken hearts did not beat long after. The prince remembered the commotion that had been when Celebrian was attacked. Elrond and his household had been devastated, and also relentless in their efforts to save the lady. In the end, she did not die, what was an enormous feat in itself, but had to sail to Valinor to recover.

The soft sound of footsteps interrupted his frantic musings, and he jumped down the tree when his friend approached their meeting place. It was an unspoken agreement between them, to meet and distract each other from the engulfing darkness of the world. Sometimes she would discuss war with him, and he had a feeling she had no one else to talk with about it. It was as if she could not show weakness before her people, and that, too, he could understand well. But while Legolas knew he had grown fond of the spirited lady, he had no idea he'd be so frightened at the prospect of losing her. Maybe he was only shaken after losing so many close friends.

"Suilad, hiril nîn." He said softly, trying to discern her state of mind.

"Suilad, hir nîn." She replied. She was dressed in those strange clothes of hers. They were endearing, actually. Combat clothing wasn't exactly complimentary, even less to a lady. But something was amiss.

"Is anything the matter?" Legolas asked, alarmed. They knew each other for a brief span of time, but he knew she was a joyful creature –even if sometimes she got bitter or angry, but that was always a brief outburst.

"No, I just..." she trailed off,  "I just had a bad day."

Legolas nodded, it was bound to happen sooner or later. In his experience silent understanding was much better than words, because in the end, there was nothing that he could _do_ about it.  It was a crime that all the responsibility should fall into the shoulders of one so young, and he had had to use all his control not to argue with some of the antarians he met in the city, and that because she had asked him not to. The people just had no discipline! No respect! How could they go out talking of their captain like that? It would never happen in Mirkwood_. Ever_. They respected authority.

And then she surprised him, stepping forth and holding him. There was nothing flirtatious in her embrace, she merely needed the comfort of a friend and that he was glad to offer, specially after all she had put up with from him. It was unexpected, but Legolas had already noticed that antarians had very little pudency about physical contact. They always embraced and kissed and touched when met a friend. Obviously he was considered a friend now.

Right?

 Letting his instincts lead him, Legolas held her close, squeezing her back softly, as he knew she needed. That was the closest he ever allowed a female to get to him. As a prince, any advance would bring the necessity of a serious courting – but as he had never felt particularly drawn to any lady, the prince kept his distance.

It did feel rather good, actually.

What if those were Middle Earth's last days? What if Sauron destroyed everything? Soon they would go to Mandos, waiting in the grey halls, at the mercy of the gods, waiting for the possibility of one day returning, forever wandering as a grey shadow. Forever wondering what could have been.

And if not… why not? He was entitled to having a life mate at one point, wasn't he? In the worst days of his life, she had been a shining guiding star. Even if they did not love each other yet, there was a strong connection of friendship, understanding, caring and common interests. Why not indeed?

"Arien, look at me." He whispered, lifting her chin with his fingers. His proposal would be sudden at best, but now that he had, indeed, thought about it, the whole thing seemed to be the most natural course of action possible. 

The face that met his gaze was beautiful as all elven faces were, and yet not quite as angelic as elves were supposed to be. There was a hint of earthliness in her features,  of humanity in her dark blue eyes. Her personality showed in her strong nose, and most of all in the fire behind her eyes. She  had been named well.

When the valië Yavanna used her power to coach a last fruit from the ruined Trees of Valinor, the golden fruit was given to Arien, a maia with such a strong spirit it was said her eyes were like fire, and it was difficult to look into them. The silvery crop was given to Tilion, who would cross the sky after Arien, thus creating the separation between day and night. 

_The lady before him also had burning eyes_.

And while not possessing the kind of flawless beauty that Galadriel, Luthien and Arwen were  celebrated for, this lady could hold her ground even in front of those beauties. It was something beyond appearances. She had a flare.

He, Legolas, Crowned Prince of Mirkwood and one of the Nine Walkers, suddenly felt nervous. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, that tingle on his belly; and he wished that his father were there to give him some advice (even if he knew what Thranduil would probably say). At a loss for words, he chose the next best thing, and  leaned forth slowly, deliberately, looking straight into her eyes and giving her time to pull back if she did not welcome his advance.

She closed her eyes a fraction of second before their lips met.

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His lips were soft as she knew they would be, softer than a mortal's could. But there was something else – he _did not_ kiss her, strictly speaking. For some time, their lips just touched. Either he was awfully patient (which could very well be true) or he was inexperienced (which also was a valid assumption).

Arien fought very hard the urge to giggle. _She'd been lusting over a guy who couldn't kiss!_ It was actually very touching. She had most definitely not been the first kiss of anyone till now. Oh dear, she should have cornered her mom about the romantic aspects of elven culture. All Aredhel had said was, _when you meet your soul mate, you just know it. It's a force of nature, like the river flowing to the sea. It just IS._ Arien had never forced the conversation because even her father Glaucus, who was obviously more open about things, turned crimson when she wanted to know what was all that fuss about getting married.

Ah. She was almost sorry to corrupt that master piece of beauty and innocence. _Oh sod it_. She was _thrilled_. It had been decades since she last felt attracted to anyone – much less _this_ drawn.

_Like a force of nature. Like a river flowing to the sea._

It was her who parted their lips, with an unavoidable smile on her lips. Legolas stared at her so intently it seemed it was the first time a woman ever walked on earth. His eyes held her motionless while his soul spoke to her –whether he was conscious of it or not. He probably wasn't. his eyes were extremely transparent, even when he wore that elven mask of serenity he mastered so well.

_It just IS._

She raised a tentative hand to cup his cheek while crossing the distance between them again. It was obviously up to her to lead the kiss, or they'd never get anywhere. Arien gently sucked his bottom lip, running her tongue against the soft skin and delighting in the almost inaudible gasp he made. Maybe it was a bit too much, she contemplated. '_Better take it nice and slow or he'll run away.'_ Stepping back again, Arien almost gulped at the intense gaze she was receiving.

Unlike mortals she had flirted with on Earth and the renegades that had courted her at Antar, this guy was not after a shag. He was serious. As in _really serious_.

Being the lady of Aryan had many joys and distresses. One of them was, as she had  quickly learned , in spite of their liberal speech (and very much in accordance with the earthling counterparts) antarians had something of a conservative streak when it came to their leaders. The people who were on the spotlights could not fault. It would not do for her to be seen flirting or having affairs as freely as she had when Arien was only a carefree young girl on earth, with no responsibility but herself and her friends. People looked up to her. Mistakes would not be forgiven, not if she wanted to receive the respect she felt was rightfully hers.

Every man would try to win her as if she was a prize (except a selected few who knew better) but once she fell in the trap, she'd be the Mr. X's girl. And that wasn't something she wanted. Arien wanted to be her own person. Besides, she had a long lifetime ahead of her. Arien could give herself the luxury of enjoying the simple joys of life – and the not so simple ones –  and establishing her own name while looking for that one guy who would woo her for what she was, not for what he could become by having her.

She was shivering, and Legolas had not even _touched_ her yet.

"In times of peace I would ask your family permission to court you," he said quietly, and her heartbeats got wild. "But in this uncertain times custom says we should act as well as we can. This may seem hasty, but alas! There is no guarantee of what future might bring."

Why ever was he taking such a roundabout to ask her out?

"Arien." The name sounded like a caress coming from him. She could let him win her heart. It would be so easy, falling in love with him. "Would you be my wife? Would you bind yourself to me?"

Wait a bit. Hold it there. Was he asking what she thought he was asking? That was a great deal more than she had asked for.

It was frightening.

It was crazy.

It was exciting.

It was tempting.

He _really _was serious. Well, that explained why people never heard of elves having affairs. A couple of kisses and the guy was proposing already. Wonder if that has to do with the whole prince thing?

"Do you mean it?" she asked, her brows furrowed in furious reflection. If he was indeed serious, she would not be able to simply go on dating and see if the relationship develops into something worthy of commitment. It would also give her a major headache moving her pawns on the chessboard, but if she moved her pieces right, there was a chance _it might work_.

And nobody knew _exactly_ how calculating Arien could be when she set her mind to something. She always got what she wanted. Always.

_And she wanted Legolas._

_And Legolas came to her. Much sooner than she thought he would._

"I would never jest with so serious a matter, milady," Legolas defended himself. Arien waved her hand in the air, trying to dismiss the tension. When had such a perfect event slipped to tense? 

"I'm afraid you caught me off guard, Legolas. Forgive me." He smiled slightly, apparently understanding her feelings, and that gave her strength.

"There's nothing to forgive, milady. It is sudden, after all. But I am confident that, should we survive this war, we would be a good match."

Thinking rationally, Arien remembered all those self-help books she read. Pretty much anyone could be great matches if they were willing to work it out.

"Do you think you can love me?" she asked. Arien had no intention of binding herself to a guy who would be forever friends-with-benefits_. She'd memory charm him first. And the whole bloody Middle earth population, if needs are._

"I am certain that I can come to love you. I am very fond of you already." Legolas answered truthfully. Good. No insulting her intelligence. Every female who lives in the liberated 21st century knew there were ways to seduce a guy –but it'd make things much easier if he was _willing_ to be seduced. And even if _I am very fond of you_ wasn't the most smashing declaration of love ever,  that was beside the point. They had eternity to achieve love (Arien was starting to believe immortality hasn't simply been split in halves and that a peredhil had as long a life as an elf. After all, Elrond was born in the First Age – Elladan and Elrohir did speak a bit of his father when they got some time to talk).

_Merlin's beard, she was actually doing it._ She'd have to be extremely careful. This was more dangerous even than building Aryan. But Aryan was built, her name was solid, she was an accomplished Auror who could pull off of any hook. The dormant impulsive flare in her came back to life.

The look in his eyes told him all she wanted to know. There was time to be cautious, and there was time to take risks. Her hand rose again to his face, caressing his cheeks.

"I do not know how these things are done."

Legolas nodded his understanding. Her parents were dead, and she had been too young to be taught the ways of marriage. They had spoken at length about their lives at their homelands, and their total dedication to career was a common trait.

 "In perilous times, we can be  wed without a public celebration, or with only the closest friends. We will say our vows and bind ourselves to one another with the Valar as our witnesses."

Arien bit her lip. _No witnesses_, for the while at least. They'd complicate everything. She needed time to arrange things to her convenience.

_Notice he said nothing about the nuptial night._

"I will bind myself to you," she spoke slowly,  seeking his eyes to see his reaction. His eyes were warm. "If you tell me how."

Legolas smiled openly.

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**Quenya** (I got this from a safe resource!) **Translations.**

**"_Umin hanyalyë_**..." I don't understand you

"**_Man Úhanyanelye_**?" what do you not understand?

**Author notes**.

_Do you think I should have separated the fluffy part from the rest? Oh cruel doubt!_

_Let me know what you think of it! See ya soon!_

The stuff about elven sex and wedding is OFFICIAL – I debated long about how to make it but in the end decided to go this way. You can find more details at the hilarious (and, surprisingly very serious) cross over reference essay **What Tolkien Officially Said About Elf Sex.**

"The union of love is indeed to them great delight and joy." (LACE) 

"All the Eldar had beautiful hair (and were especially attracted by hair of exceptional loveliness)." (The Shibboleth of Fëanor, _The Peoples of Middle-Earth, HME_) 

  Imladris homepage where I found many enlightening bits of information (you can't very well go read all those tomes when you need to have a question answered, now can you?)

**Morgoth's Ring, 4th paragraph, page 211**

But these ceremonies were not rites necessary to marriage; they were only a gracious mode by which the love of the parents was manifested, and the union was recognized which would join not only the betrothed but their two houses together.** It was the act of bodily union that achieved marriage, and after which the indissoluble bond was complete**. In happy days and times of peace it was held ungracious and contemptuous of kin to forgo the ceremonies, **but it was at all times lawful for any of the Eldar, both being unwed, to marry thus of free consent one to another without ceremony or witness** (**save blessings exchanged and the naming of the Name**); and the union so joined was alike indissoluble**. In days of old, in times of trouble, in flight and exile and wandering, such marriages were often made. **

**(bold letters are mine, not Tolkien's)**

_Morgoth's Ring: The Later Silmarillion Part One, Volume 10 of The History of Middle Earth,_ J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien. Houghton Mifflin Co, 1993. 

Source for: "**Laws and Customs of the Eldar**" (**LACE**). 


	12. Chapter eleven: Interlude: It is to be a...

A.N.: This little interlude was made for my peace of mind alone – I just could not rest till it was written (you see, I started this at two pm and finished at 3 am). If you got sick of the romance bit, or simply can't take strong scenes, just skip this chapter and no harm will be done. For those of you who are, like me, fond of romance and smut, relax and enjoy the guilty pleasure that it is. After all, I had to raise the rating over this chapter. 

Just out of curiosity: what do you think about this being moved to the lord of the Rings section?

_Chapter 11 -  Interlude:  It is to be all made of sighs and tears…_ "If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 

_That ever did love make thee run into,_

_Thou hast not lov'd." Shakespeare, As you like it._

Minas Tirith, Gondor, May 21st of 3019.__

"I will bind myself to you," she spoke slowly, seeking his eyes to see his reaction. His eyes were warm. "If you tell me how."

Legolas smiled openly. He then explained to her the vows to be exchanged, and what should happen next –_he really looks cute when he blushes_ – so that they would by mutual agreement be bound together as husband and wife.

They were sitting on the grass, playing with each other's fingers while they talked of what would be expected of their union. All in all, it wasn't the cold conversation one might think. The duties were very much things she already had to deal about, with the Ministry of magic, the Senate of Antar, the Royal Board and Aryan. Just a few different things, really. 

Princess of Mirkwood. Now _that_ would take some time getting used to. Going from liberal democracy to absolutist monarchy could be a bit of a problem.

" Repeat with me. _I, Arien, of my free will accept thee, Legolas_..." he whispered in her ear. It probably was the most erotic thing he ever dared to do. And damn him if it was not erotic.

"Here?" she squeaked. She _squeaked, for pity's sake!_ Legolas chuckled softly, obviously enjoying the sight of her so flustered.

_'I'm the one who's been married before, blond boy. No idea why you're so full of yourself.'_

"Why not? It's the closest to being in a wood we will be."

"Well, " she said with a hint of irritation in her voice and the slightest blush on her cheeks, "while I can agree of exchanging our vows in this garden, I hardly think it would do for us to proceed with the … nuptials … because this is not a closed park. What if Gandalf were passing by and _saw_ us?"

Legolas' mouth itched upwards; she could tell he was controlling his laughter. Whether it was at the mental image or at her worry Arien did not wish to find out.

"What does the lady suggest, then?" he conceded diplomatically. Oh well. Her next couple of millennia would certainly be interesting, she could tell.

"There are loads of abandoned houses in Minas Tirith, milord," she responded with the same mock politeness he had used.

"We cannot impose using the someone else's house!" Legolas objected, but his voice held something that wasn't quite condemning. It was rather close to amusement, really.

"What we cannot, Legolas, is to be caught in a … err… intimate, moment by a person passing by!"

He seemed to consider the plan for a while. Arien decided to press her luck a bit further- but Legolas spoke first.

"We could see Faramir and ask him…"

"_NO WAY_!"

"Ask him permission to make use of one of the edifices. We could make it our place for the time being."

Arien was now beet red. She didn't even think she could ever blush like that till now.

"I am not discussing this with Faramir." She stated stubbornly. 

"Why wouldn't you?" Legolas inquired, perplexed. It was natural for him that they, under the circumstances and due to their positions, could make such a request to the steward.

"His father just died today, Legolas," Arien answered. "Besides, I think this is a private moment. I don't really want anyone talking about it." She tried to make as if she was shy – when she had never been that shy. In fact, her love life had always been open to discuss with her Ravenclaw classmates – affectionally called _eagles_ by themselves – they always talked about everything.

Legolas gave her a small nod of understanding. 

"This is a very big city…" he said, "But you see we are in a very delicate situation if we do get caught?"

**_Victory._******

"Why, Legolas," she smiled and approached him to plant a feather kiss on his cheek. "We _will not_ be caught. One would think we know a thing or two about stealth, wouldn't one?"

He answered with a completely straight face, "Just promise me that if we ever have children, we won't tell them about it."

"I promise."

They walked around the sixth ring alleys, where most of the court had their houses since the seventh was very much separated for the official buildings. Practically everyone was camped in the lower part of the city, to be closer to the battle, including the healers who transferred the House of Healing to a residential street in the first ring.

"Sometimes this place unnerves me to no end. Everything is so… stony," Arien said quietly.

"You miss the trees?" Legolas asked, with the hint of a smile. "We can go back…"

"Don't get smart at me, Legolas. I'm not falling for it."

He got a little bit closer to her and whispered quietly, as to not be overheard by any elf passing by (Not that there were any in sight. They were all probably in the first ring gossiping about the row between Arien and Damon).

"Considering you have agreed to be my wife, I'd say you _have_ fallen."

They chuckled.

After a five minutes walk, the couple reached a neighborhood that was even more deserted than the previous. By the structure of the constructions, those houses belonged to people of influence, but not quite royals. However, the essential thing was that it was abandoned. They strolled leisurely down the street and then climbed the wall in a particularly dark spot of the street. With the light being restricted to the extremely necessary inside the city, all Minas Tirith was immersed in almost utter darkness, so Arien and Legolas were quite sure they would not be caught.  Gliding from roof to roof till they reached the chosen house, the prince lowered himself into the backyard first, catching Arien when she jumped.

Their elven senses told them there was nobody in the immediate vicinity, and they entered the house forcing the back door.

When they were finally in the house – they had entered a large kitchen – both finally exploded in laughter.

"You know that thing about never speaking of this to our children?"  The blond elf asked when his laughter had subdued enough.

"I already promised, Legolas! I do not think it would be all right if I told my daughter about this… she might get some ideas!" Arien forced out between chuckles.

"I just remembered… maybe we should not tell my father either. He'd be outraged, I guess."

"Can we agree on keeping this between us?" she asked tossing her hair back her shoulders.

"I think that can be managed." He stated with mock seriousness.

Obviously the whole marriage thing had brought out a brighter side of him. But then again, elves get married only once. Except Finwë, and look the mess that his second marriage had caused – an eternally sulking first-marriage son that very nearly destroyed Middle earth with his madness.

"Come," Legolas called, "we're here, we might as well do some exploration."

Arien accepted the hand he offered, and felt herself being gently pulled through some corridors. The house was very nice, heavily furnished, with spacious rooms. It did not even make her feel confined.

"I have this funny feeling," she said when they opened the door to the master suite, "that you're enjoying this much more than what would be acceptable to someone on your position, Your Highness."

"Well, _Your Highness_," he replied, entering in the chamber. "You'll never know, now will you?"

'You are enjoying this, you sneak!'

The redhead followed him inside and closed the door behind her. 

The room was as spacious and well decorated as the rest of the house, although there was much more personality in there.  Paintings and tapestries hung on the walls (they should not hung tapestries. Most humans are susceptible accumulated dust), and a door led to what they could see was a dressing room and a bathroom.

Curious, Arien removed the white sheets that protected the furniture from too much dust. The furnishings were made of dark wood, with velvet stuffing. It did not look abandoned for long and it made sense, because it was not a month ago that the civilians had been taken off the city.

And it was also very, very dark. The streets had no lamps lit and the Mordor spell blocked all light from the moon and the stars. She lit a lamp after being sure the curtains were drawn.

"It will be easier to see our path this way." She said, turning to see her husband-to-be.

What, of course, turned out to be a mistake. _Or not_.

Legolas stood in his full six feet four height, leaning against the door with deceiving laziness. Now that there was _some_ light in the room, Arien could see his features and most of all, his eyes.

Oh, there was so much in those eyes. Amusement, wonder, a hint of disorientation and hunger. He crossed the room to where she stood, feeling her face with the tips of his fingers, paying special attention to her lips, his gaze never faltering from her eyes. Then he spoke, utterly serious:

 "I, Legolas, of my free will accept thee, Arien, as my rightful wife and call upon Manwë to witness my vows of being ever caring, faithful and respectful of thee. May Eru bind our souls forever, and bless our union and the fruits that may come of it."

His voice was deeper than normal, and a bit husky. It reminded Arien why exactly she was embarking in such a crazy thing for starters.

"I, Arien, of my free will accept thee, Legolas, as my rightful husband and call upon Varda to witness my vows of being ever caring, faithful and respectful of thee. May Eru bind our souls forever, and bless our union and the fruits that may come of it."

They exchanged their vows in awe, surprised that they were actually doing it. And when their lips met together, there was no holding back from any part. They kissed exploringly, and at length letting the desire build up as they continued.

"No." Arien gasped when the need for oxygen became an issue. Her husband sure was a fast learner.

"What is the matter, Arien?" Legolas asked, absolutely clueless. She had agreed with this not even a couple of hours ago. And Legolas might be inexperienced, but he was not _daft_ –he knew when a lady was attracted to him. Arien had been stealing glances in his direction since they met. Why was she backing down now?

She smiled at him. "A little tradition I forgot about. I'll be right back." She then walked in the direction of the dressing room.

"What is this tradition?" Legolas asked as she retreated. His lips still tingled from their kiss, and it was just the kissing.

"Well, if you must know milord, the bride is supposed to prepare herself for her lord."

'_Now what on Middle Earth is Arien about? Prepare herself? What is there to prepare_?' Legolas thought.

Arien closed the door to the dressing chamber and leaned back on it. She needed some time to _think_. She would have instants to make her moves so nobody would have any reason to suspect of her. After a couple of minutes, she had drawled what she thought would be a reasonable plan and focused on the next gap in her plot. And if the plan was downright risky and crazy, it was very much in character with her, wasn't it?

Now Arien had to decide whether elven women would have a hymen or not. She could not for the life of her, remember if she had bled in her first time but she did remember it had been somewhat painful at first. It had been with Ewan, a sixth year slytherin friend of hers. She had always had a weak spot for slytherins.

The Ravenclaw decided to cast a spell to recreate hers just in case – it was a rather unknown spell, kept in surprising secrecy by females (who were known for not being the tightest of fellowships), taught not by teachers in any school but for girlfriends, in whispers and under oaths of secrecy.

One would think they'd not give that much importance to virginity in the twenty-first century. But for those girls who actually needed the spell, it was taught, no questions asked. And no men would ever know. It was one of the _Mysteries._

**"Virgus"**

Thank Ceres for the Mysteries.

Arien hastily undid her braids and removed her dressrobe and shoes, staying only in her chemise. She'd always thought it sexy for a woman to wear clothes so androgen, as in borrow a lover's shirt and walking around his house wearing it. A quick glance at the mirror assured her that she was looking good.

When she walked into the bedroom again, Legolas was sitting in an armchair, waiting.

When his wife returned to the room – something that she insisted upon, he might add, although Legolas had to concede she had had a valid point on not wishing to be surprised by any passerby – his breath caught on his throat. The only coherent thought he had was, **_wow_**.

She walked to him barefooted, with her auburn hair lose and wearing only her chemise. Legolas made a mental note to try to convince Arien to let him undress her next time. If they lived to have a next time. But he'd make sure to survive every day of the battle just to see that. And now that he was alone with his wife, and they were about to consummate bodily union and seal their bond, he nearly panicked.

'_I really should have asked father more about this.'_

Thranduil, being the wise elf he was, had provided Legolas with some inkling to what would happen between husband and wife. It wouldn't do for the Prince of Mirkwood to grow up thinking people were wed when they kissed after all (although he had believed that when he was _fifteen_ _or twenty years old_).

Legolas rose in one fluid motion before he even registered the action.

His wife was two inches shorter than he was, and that was a very tall she-elf indeed.  He felt a tentative hand touching his chest and a hot breath in his neck.

"Now, where were we?"

"I do believe," Legolas groaned, "that we were here." And with that he seared her lips in a kiss unlike any of the formers. He assaulted her mouth, probing and tasting and taking as much as he could, with the hunger of a man dying of thirst in the desert who suddenly found a bottle of water. He was happily surprised to find that she responded in kind.

Hands gripped his neck, forcing the kiss even deeper, while she felt her pressing herself against him in a tight hug that banished all rationality left from his mind. Legolas held her waist because the embrace felt so good, and because for some stupid reason he thought she might fall if he did not, and the loss of contact was something he could not endure now. She moaned contently against his mouth, so he brilliantly concluded he'd done the right thing.

'It is so hard after all.'

Slowly, timidly, the hands began to move up her back, and she sighed. Legolas felt a very unknown ache in his lower body that tingled most wonderfully when their embrace caused friction with the said lower body.

His wife stepped back, trying to open his tunic with trembling fingers.

"Let me," he offered, and unbuttoned the top buttons so to pull the tunic off. His hands were trembling also. Arien, however, had her own agenda and hurriedly pulled off his undershirt as well, leaving him half naked. Her hands drew messy patterns on his chest and the feeling was just _divine_. There was something building up in him, a hunger, and a desire for something he did not yet quite know but had a general picture from those far away conversations with his father.

Only when they had talked, it had seemed so… mechanic. Abstract. The feeling in his heart and lower abdomen was very, very real.

He realized that there was too much clothing between them. Slowly he removed the chemise and stared amazed at the strange undergarments she wore. Legolas could not recognize the fabric- not that it really mattered – but they were extremely alluring on her. They revealed, without revealing.

Arien grasped his left hand and kissed every finger lazily, lingering those full lips on his fingertips, and then put it over her right breast, with a light encouraging squeeze. 

"Lay your hands on me, Legolas." Barely a whisper but sounded like thunderstorm in his ears.

He pulled her to him roughly, carrying her to the bed and quickly covering her body with his.

Sweet Eru, he thought that it could not possibly get any better. How _wrong_ he was.

He proceeded with his exploration, while she proceeded with hers, both guiding themselves by the moans and sighs and cries the other made. They kissed and touched each other's every inch of skin, and Legolas' heart would surely explode if he did not do anything soon. But what? He was all instinct now, letting her sounds tell him when he pleasured her.

"Legolas, please!" she begged, her hands flying to the waistband of his trousers, trying to free him from the offensive clothes. He kneeled back on his heels to undo the ties while she removed the exotic undergarments. The elf threw the breeches off somewhere in the room and covered her body with his again. Her legs immediately hooked around his waist, while he sucked the point where her shoulder met her neck, making her cry. He'd never tire of hearing that.

Arien's face had something close to desperation, and he did not doubt his were alike. His hand went down to guide him into hers, and in the moment he was about to do it, their gazes locked.

Then he joined his wife, and was surprised when she uttered a groan that was clearly not borne from pleasure. Panic swept him when he thought he had hurt her horribly. 

Arien drew a few deep breaths, and used her legs to urge him to continue. But Legolas dared not. He would hurt her!

"It is all right, love," she reassured him, her eyes sparkling in the dimly lit room. "Do not stop."

"I hurt you," he said.

"Do not worry over that," her hands were traveling up and down his body again, making thinking a _Very Difficult Thing_. "Sometimes happens." She kissed the tip of his nose. It was a very touching kiss, and awfully funny too. Legolas supposed her guidance on that should be better than his, as he had no idea of how it could be for the lady, except that he was supposed to be attentive and pleasure her as well as himself. So he pumped again, very slowly, testing her.

She moaned, but definitely out of pleasure. The tension became unbearable, and he could only continue to move, leaving kisses in her neck and mouth, and almost lost control (control? What control?) When she licked the contours of his ear, biting his earlobe softly. Her breathing became frantic and her moans turned into cries as her muscles clenched him. Arien dug her nails on his back and bit his shoulder with a vengeance.

Which Legolas actually did not mind, because he was seeing stars exploding in his head. For a moment, the whole universe narrowed down to him and Arien, and he felt _IT_. An overwhelming wave of pleasure engulfing him, and everything seemed so bright and intense, and Legolas could sense her soul within him.

He collapsed over her, burying his head on her shoulder and wondering why in the name of Elbereth he had not done this sooner. She surely smelled wonderfully.

Arien kissed his forehead and played with his hair. When he finally rolled to her side, keeping one possessive arm on her waist, their gazes met again.

"_Ten'oio, mel nîn_." He whispered, planting a light kiss on her cheek.

 "_Ten'oio, Legolas_."

He was almost drowsing to sleep when he felt a feathery kiss on his chest. Looking down he saw his wife leaving a trail of wet kisses across his torso, and felt himself fully aroused again. '_She is the epitome of adventure_,' he thought, '_and that may be why I'm drawn to her_.'  When she raised her head there was an unmistakable twinkle of mischief in her eyes, and she stretched luxuriously as a cat on top of him.

By the Valar, that woman would be the death of him.

"Practice makes perfect," she said teasingly.

"Really?" he retorted with one arched eyebrow. Which was futile, because she could feel his reaction pressed against her stomach.

"Really." She breathed on his ear. On their own volition his hands flew to grip her hips, hard.

"Come here," he said with a dangerously low voice.

They actually managed to grasp a little nap before dawn, but when the new day came the newlyweds had to part. Legolas went down to the House of healing to check on Aragorn and Pippin whilst Arien had to go to her tent to change and meet the other captains. They had agreed to keep that a secret between themselves till the war was over, or at least until the antarians calmed down a bit.

When Arien was approaching her tent she saw herself leaving it furiously discussing with Selton, Pyrrhus, Lavignia and Madrin. Her plan had been a success then.

Swift as a shadow and making very good use of a muffling charm (which would make her nearly impossible to be spotted) Arien sneaked back into her tent, thanking god for the overall darkness of the place. Once inside, she apparated straight into her bedroom in Aryan and began to make her arrangements.

With unicorn horn powder she made a Time-Turner and turned a few hours back in time. Now she could go back to Minas Tirith and truthfully claim she had been all that time in her tent, sleeping. Everybody would believe it.

But in truth, she was plotting how on God's green Middle Earth she would stay with her husband.

Husband. Good god, she was _Married. _It was crazy!

But it was deliciously crazy.

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**A.N: **if you came this far, could you please tell me what you think of the story?

**Concerning the title –**I was looking for a quote or song that fit into the… err… spirit, of this chapter, and got this two quotes from As you like it. The one I used in the title is a bit of the quote in question:

_"**Phebe**_**:** _Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love._

**_Silvius:_**_ **It is to be all made of sighs and tears…**_

_It is to be all made of faith and service…_

_It is to be all made of fantasy,_

_All made of passion,  and all made of wishes;_

_All adoration, duty, and observance;_

_All humbleness, all patience, and impatience;_

_All purity, all trial, all obeisance."_

**Concerning the vows-**

"_I, Legolas, of my free will accept thee, Arien, as my rightful wife and call upon Manwë to witness my vows of being ever caring, faithful and respectful of thee. May Eru bind our souls forever, and bless our union and the fruits that may come of it."_

I'm just following the little information about elven marriage we have – that the bridegroom (or his family, if they did a wedding ceremony) called Manwë as witness and the bride (likewise, or her family, etc.)  Varda, and Both called Eru. I added the caring, faithful and respectful bit of my own volition. The joining of bodies would be the elven equivalent to our '_and now I declare you husband and wife.',_ or the signing of the papers. Or both;

**Ceres, Mysteries** – reference to the Greek mysteries of Ceres and Persephone. It had to do with death and rebirth, like the seasons, and only the initiated knew them. It was said they would not suffer in darkness in the afterlife like the non-initiated. It is not too much to make the connection to femininity, season of the year, moon cycle,  sexuality, feminine power, birth, death and rebirth. It's in most the psychology books that use Greek myths as their archetypes. Hey, even Muggles could fool their spouses into believing they were still virgins. It wouldn't be absolutely unreal to assume witches had something of the sort. Especially when the rites of Avalon crashed frontally with the Christian philosophy. Probably some priestesses of Avalon had to retort to that trick, at any point.

Arien obviously grasped the act of love was of utmost importance and got paranoid Legolas might somehow find out she hadn't been a virgin, hence the spell. Sneaky, sneaky witch.

**Translations**

**Ten'oio** – This I saw in a wickedly good fanfiction 'Destiny's Ring' it's here at FF.Net and I highly encourage you to read it. Can't put my hand on the veracity of the meaning, but judging from the amount of elvish phrases the author uses, it may be true. It seemed like a hell of a lot of research to me.

**Mel nîn **This means _my love_. There are many variations of this endearment on the fandom – we have _melanin, melamin, mela nin,_ and so on. Legolas was being his charming, sensitive self. (sighs)


	13. Anticlimax

A.N.: This is the last chapter of this book. Next book already uploaded.

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Chapter 12: Anticlimax 

****

_" If you had one shot_

_one opportunity_

_this is everything you ever wanted_

_would you capture it_

_or just let it slip?" Lose yourself, Eminem._

Minas Tirith, Gondor. March 22nd of 3019.

Much to the antarians chagrin, the Stewart's demise prevented any martial activity until the ruling of the city was a solved matter. Aragorn, being Aragorn, immediately clarified he would not threaten the  country's  stability by claiming kingship whilst they were so fragile, and so Faramir  was proclaimed Steward of Gondor.

And the day was spent re-arranging the government. And tending the wounded.

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Arien did not know whether she'd meet her husband in their park or in their secret place. All day long, she was assembled with captains and lieutenants,  redefining the strategy, calming people down, and reassuring them she had pretty much everything under control. 

No easy feat when one of your closest friends is defying your authority and capability. And even harder when you have to keep everyone shut out of your mind – it wouldn't do for them to find out about a certain fair haired elf, for example. The whole thing was just downright mad.

And now that the euphoria had passed, Arien seriously doubted the wisdom of the event. She'd be charged for High Treason, at the very least.

'_Well,'_ she thought, '_it's something of a family tradition, isn't it?'_

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of her tent's living room floor, the redhead stared at the papers scattered around her with a blank expression and even blanker mind. 

Damie was a very powerful wizard –she'd trained him herself. She knew his strength and his weaknesses – he was extremely good at Charms and Hexes, but unexplainably not-so-good at Transfiguration. She knew the way his hand made an involuntary flourish before the actual spell's flick-and-switch of the wand. She knew he was a talented orator, with the technique and the insight to capture an audience's attention that was pure art. She knew he was extremely cunning and had the mind of an natural investigator. She knew he could be blind to things other than his goals and beliefs, and that he wouldn't hesitate in removing whomever might be in his way of achieving said goal, and may God have mercy of the poor soul who threatened what he was protecting.

Once he learned of her and Legolas, they were both in trouble.

_'Good Lord, what have I  done?'_

She had almost a thousand fully trained wizards who would all be very angry once they learned she was 'turning sides'. The moderate wouldn't help her and the radicals would have her loins in a silver plate. And Legolas...

_'He's innocent, god damn it!'_

Why on earth had she been so reckless? Why did she not wait more before going around teaching magic? Now she was alone and it was unlikely she'd be heard. Specially when she was lost the second any of the Comyn  found her out –while Arien could shut her mind, _Legolas could not_.

Pulling herself together, she reached for her journal and started to write furiously.

She had a plan.

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Legolas had to struggle very hard not to grin to anyone who passed him by. It was amazing, this feeling of completeness, of rightness. 

It felt like coming home.

Elladan also had a beaming face, not even minding when his brother teased him mercilessly about his lady. Aragorn was nowhere in sight, but Gandalf was, and they sat contentedly side by side enjoying the very rare event of having some time.

She'd be with him in a few hours.

"The army of Mordor is diminishing," the prince of Mirkwood said as greeting.

"Yes," Gandalf answered, "There are yet forces at work that are stronger than darkness."

'Diminishing' was wistful thinking, the army of Sauron was yet a good one hundred thousand strong, instead of two hundred and fifty thousand.

"We will be able to free the city in a few days," Legolas said, glancing down at the tens of thousands valiant soldiers who kept the orcs and barbarians away. It was amazing. Certainly the Valar were with them, strengthening their hearts, protecting the soldiers, confusing the enemy.

"I should hope so. My heart is restless."

Gandalf the White did not go restless over petty things, and Legolas returned to his usual state of alertness. Was it Frodo, was it Aragorn, or the Wizard had something else in mind?

"I sense a storm, Legolas, and it's coming straight to us. But not from Mordor," the wizard lowered his voice, "There is a shadow within the city. I can feel its rage growing, but I cannot see where it is. Or who. There are great perils in this world, and treachery is not the least of them."

"Ai! These are dark days, when one should be wary of his own friends."

"Yes. But let us keep faith. The Company is still true."

Hope remains while the company is true.

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_The little fool!_

Damon had never felt so enraged in his whole life. Now he knew the reason why Arien was so bent on defending that godforsaken city –it was the elf. The _elf_! Had she lost all sense? Had she no pride?

_Why? Why?_

Damon almost drew his sword there and then, when Legolas passed through him with that sickening almost smile plastered in his face –but enraged as he was, Damon knew he should not do it in full view. 

She fell in love with him.

She was deserting them. In no time, she'd be teaching the elves, and that was something he couldn't allow to happen. They could not be given that power. They would be equal to antarians.

The elf would be killed. Arien would have her memory charmed. They'd have their Headmistress back, and everything would be as it always had.

_Arien was theirs_.

For his plan to work, nobody could know, what ruled out him telling anyone. Hexing another wizard was a very serious crime, and he did not wish to explain it to the Council. He would approach her alone, and off guard. Damon had very little time.

Legolas would be killed as soon as they went off to battle the next day.

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Arien was alone when Damon entered her tent.

"I was wondering when you'd come," she said evenly.

"You know I cannot be in bad terms with you for long." Damon replied, approaching her carefully. She was dressed in her uniform, standing near the table with a big mug of black coffee in her hands, which she gracefully placed down on the table.

"So, Damon. What do you have to say?"

"I have to say, Arien, that I am really sorry." No sooner than the words escaped his mouth, he was thrown against the wall and his wand flew off to Arien's hand.

"You are a remarkable wizard, Damon, you truly are. And how could you not be, when I trained you to?" the girl said, walking past him. "However, you made a great mistake. You underestimated me."

His angry stare was the only answer Arien got.

"You really did not pay attention when I told you I hunt wizards for a living, did you?"

"You are doomed, Arien. They'll never forgive you."

"Valkyria told me the same thing when I stunned her counsellors," she said with a small smile, and Damon's eyes turned wide. "But I managed quite well."

"WHAT ON GOD'S GREEN MIDDLE-EARTH IS GOING ON HERE????"

"He tried to attack me," Arien said, and in the same moment Damon yelled that she had hexed him.

Selton stared at both of them, wands at ready, throwing daggers with his eyes. "Drop your shields, both of you. NOW!"

Selton could be quite persuasive when he wanted. Arien did as she was told, but Damon did not. Selton gasped and fell rather forcefully on the nearest chair.

"Good God, Arien, when you get in trouble, you get in TROUBLE." The Gryffindor said.

"So I figured."

The trio stood motionless for a few moments, as Arien watched Selton for any bad reaction, Damon waited to see if the Gryffindor would deliver them both to the ministry of Magic or what and Selton tried frantically to make some sense of the whole situation.

"Are you sure this will work?" the blond elf asked at last.

"There are no guarantees. But it has worked before."

"Then go." He said quietly, startling the woman.

"Excuse me."

"It is crazy, Arien. But that's why I trust it. Don't ask me any more questions. Just go, and do what you have to do. Time is running out."

Damon and Selton glared at one another.

"It is folly. We will all be killed!" Damon reasoned, furious because everything was falling apart. Antar was falling apart.

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When Arien arrived at the park, he was there.

"Hello, Arien."

"Hello yourself," she answered, seeking refuge in his embrace. In a few moments she'd be alone again, a long road ahead of her. But it'd be alright.

"What happened?" Legolas asked, sensing the tension in her embrace. She  was troubled.

"I was charged for High Treason."

"WHAT?!?"

"I was charged for High—"

"I heard it," he answered stonily. "I just cannot accept it."

"Neither can I." Arien said, looking straight at his eyes. "I need time, but I don't have any."

"Gandalf  will testify for you—"

"Gandalf cannot help me, Legolas."

She pulled him down onto the grass, and laid her bag down. It was going to be a  hard talk.

"Arien, dear, what can we do?"

"I have to ask you something, Legolas." Her hand run through what hair of his was not braided. It all came down to him, although she could think of many other things tat had to change as well. "What made you decide to marry me?"

His mind relived the last few days. "I just knew."

Arien let out her breath. "I thought so." They both smiled. "You know I was smitten by you from the day we met?"

"I had a feeling," he said with a sly grin, but turned serious again," but Arien, now we need to discuss what we must do to clear you name."

"There is nothing to do –_now. I have to undo several mistakes, and that will be hard. But I want you to know that I __will come back to you. Do you trust me?__" her face was serious and anxious. Legolas took her face into his hands. _

"I trust you, but I want to know what is going on!"

"I have told you as much as I can."

"I am your husband! I have a right to know!" he stated, utterly serious.

"Legolas, listen to me," Arien turned his face so he'd be looking straight into her eyes. "Remember the Lady Galadriel?" He nodded. "Some of  the antarians in this city can do the same. They can _see your mind_. If I tell you,  my plans will be revealed and I'll be executed without a trial. And so would you."

"But they can't, you did nothing wrong! And I won't let you face them alone!" the prince exploded.

"They'd see it as a proof that I'm a traitor. It's not fair, but life is not often fair, melanîn. If I tell you, we are both doomed. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

Legolas stood up abruptly and begun to pace. She'd never seen him like that before.

"Legolas, please."

"Be careful." He said at last, still not facing her. 

"Legolas?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm scared."

He turned then, and swept her to him in a tight embrace. "I'll always be on your side, milady."

"Wish me luck," she said, stepping back  and getting her bag.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes and no. Stay close to Gandalf, he'll protect you."

After a final quick kiss, the Ravenclaw left the park, and disapparated when she was out of view.  She'd only just heard the first waves of enraged screaming coming from the first ring.

Within minutes, her plan was put in action. 

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@ Ered Mithrin, Middle-Earth, July 26th of 2910 of the Third Age.

Arien was lost.

She had something utterly important to do there, she knew. She was risking everything in that move, and yet she could not _remember_ why it was that she was there at all.

A huge, metallic thing went in her direction at high speed. _My trunk_, she thought, not knowing from where that knowledge had come. 

"I lived this all before," her clone had said to her, taking a deep breath. "I do not know how much you remember now but you will remember some of your experiences at the War of the Ring in the next few hours. However,  you will not remember exactly what happened before you turned time back for the first time. It does not matter because most of it is written down in your journal," she tossed the disoriented girl a leather covered book. "What is not written will remain for ever a mystery, I'm afraid. All you need to know is that it was necessary to make the travel and change a few things in the future. Do you follow me?"

Arien opened her bag and retrieved the book. It was there. The last written page had a decidedly frantic handscript, as if someone was in great hurry while writing those thins down. At the same time, she saw a girl – her clone – walking quickly towards her. Her clone was trembling, and pointing a woody stick in a menacing manner. _A wand._

"She will kill me," she stated. "The younger and the older self cannot meet. It's the main rule of time travelling. It's against the laws."

_"She will not kill you. All you have to do is tell her to look into your mind. She will know you're not foe, and that something terribly serious happened, serious enough for you to break the rules. She will take care of you until you recover enough of your memory to draw a plan with your other self and you'll work it out from there. Here, take this backpack. You'll have everything you'll need in here –your journals, your wand, your first aid bag, some books and a couple of clothes. Your weapons you already carry with you –but remember to lower them to the ground when you meet her, it is important she does not sense danger from you. Do you understand me?"_

Arien slowly lowered her backpack to the ground, also dropping her wand ( she just remembered in which pocket she kept it), her bow and arrow and her short swords. Her clone wavered slightly at her actions.

"I broke the rules," Arien said quietly, not wanting to startle an upset witch with a wand appointed to her. This was the most critical of times, the younger self might kill the older, and vice versa. _ How do I know it?_ "because it was important. If you'd be so kind, I'll lower my mental barriers now, and you'll see for yourself if I'm a friend or a foe."

"Open your mind then, and let's see it." Her clone had said. She obliged.

"Holy crap," the clone said when she saw Arien's mind –what was not blank, that is. "How come that you've lost your memory?"

"I'm not sure." Arien replied quietly. She was getting dizzy, the northern hemisphere was having an extremely hot summer that year. Arien remembered they'd also have an unimaginable cold winter sometime soon, the Deadly Winter it'd be called.

"Of course you're not sure, silly me. Oh, hell just what I needed: Sauron, a Ring of Power, an army built to destroy the world of men, my own country after my blood and an infatuation with an elven prince. Could I get any more fucked up?"

"We have work to do." Arien stated, ignoring the clone's rambling. Was she really that stressed in the past? It was a wonder anyone had put up with her.

"I cannot  deny that," the clone accepted. One thing at least was in her advantage, Arien's younger self recognised danger and would not run from it.

"I think the first thing we'd do was to choose ourselves names." Arien said.

"We can do that while you recover. God damn it, this changes everything! Get in the car, I'll drive us somewhere safe, somewhere we can hid until you're healed. We can read that journal and try to figure something out then."

"Stella. That was my name- that'll be your name. Mine will be Solene. I remember that."

"You do realise we have a hell of a problem with the Time Paradox, don't you?" the clone said. "Come on in. We'll talk when you can keep your eyes open."

Solene entered the trunk, and Stella started the engines. She drove north, to the wild woods of the far Northern land, the lands from where her father's tribe had come. They needed shelter, and they needed to be away from the people of Middle earth for a while. They had to make a plan.

..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::..::(~'*'~)::.

A.N.: The next part will be called The Renegades: Double Jeopardy. It would be too twisted a plot to keep going from here, I think.

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for listening (yet again). If you have any suggestions, 

comments, doubts, please email me. Or review!


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